

Qass— 

Book— 



Accession No. JBlIIX 













ft « 




. '■ If 

.IWfi ‘' 


'f . 



ar. 


•! 


? "' "'■ V ' 'T ''"i' 1 w m iipfii ' 


31 


? . i* 



ir 


• . jvi i ’'Z'* U*’.tC"3 '. •• - 





y 



iife.^^ 1 . /A ' ' ***SS ^ *Q^***P 

k, ftjiiii«,^,-/|^,.^ . A*s .. jos^MBKasms^ . 






*« 


L . i 


Vr-'- ■' 

"Pi .-/.•jtr • [#^j 




>V ■ 'ki 







LORENZO 


BENONI 


a. 

—p,- 


PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF AN ITALIAN 


II ' > 

EDITED BY A FEIEND. 


'T' 

]• 



m- 


REDPIBLD 

34 BEEKMAN STREET, NEW YORK 

Third Edition.] 18 60 


Vo 

s 


Transfer 

U.S Naval Academy ^ 

April 16,1931 4 




CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. 

Early Education, Prospects, Pursuits, Drawbacks, and Travelling Adven- 
tures PAGE T 


CHAPTER 11. 

Introduces the Dramatis Personse, and records the Violent Death of a 


Sparrow 20 

CHAPTER HI. 

The Prince carries the Day, but I spoil his Triumph 28 

CHAPTER IV. 

Deep Schemes, and a Queer Lecturer 86 

CHAPTER V. 


Wherein the late Second Prize is Cured of his Pretensions to Poetry ... 41 

CHAPTER VI. 

Describes a Boxing-Match, and a Rise in Public Prospects soon followed 
by a Fall in Mine 49 

CHAPTER VH. 

Thanks to a Fellow-Prisoner, I am roused from Utter Despair to the most 


Sanguine Anticipations 6*7 

ClCfTER VHI. 

Explosion — A Lesson to Tyrants 66 

CHAPTER IX. 


A Ilepublican Government established, and a Roman Triumph exhibited 74 


4 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER X. 

Gives a Sketch of, Don Silvestro, and shows how Little Causes can pro- 
duce Great Effects page 81 

CHAPTER XI. 

Some New Characters introduced — The First Division rebels, and car- 
ries its Point 88 

CHAPT’ER XIL 

The Tables turned — Damon and Pythias — Triumphal Exit from School 97 

CHAPTER XHI. 

Absurd Notions and Timely Checks — I pursue my Studies at the Semi- 
nary, and light upon an Old Foe 104 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Religious Enthusiasm — Projects of Martyrdom adjourned — Things 

come to a Crisis with my Big Persecutor 114 - 

CHAPTER XV. 

My Brother Ca;sar steps in and takes the Lead — Freaks and Fancies. . 124 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The University — My World of Fancy crumbles before Sad Realities. . 136 
CHAPTER XVIL 

How I got acquainted with Fantasio, and both of us with the Director 


of the Police — Sudden Crisis in Ceesar’s Affairs, and his Illness. . . 144 

CHAPTER XVHI. 

Unexpected Visitation, and Awkward Dilemma — My Father is very 

angry, and bids Me bestir Myself 165 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Injustice and Oppression beget the Spirit of Revolt — Uncle John 
. preaches to the Winds 167 

CHAPTER XX. 

An Old Friend in a Sad Plight — Tender Solicitude of the Carabineers 

lest the Citizens should catch Cold . 177 

CHAPTER XXL 

The State of Piedmont, previous to the Grant of a Constitution, hinted 

at in an Anecdotical Way 184 


CONTENTS. 


0 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Tantalizing Discovery, and Hot Chase to no Purpose — The Valley of 

San Secondo page 191 


CHAPTER XXHI. 

Initiation, Bright Dreams, Misgivings, High-wrought Anticipations, and 

Final Disappointment 203 

CHAPTER XXIY. 

Intoxicating Effects of a Letter — The Invisible Goddess becomes Visi- 
ble — Blissful Meeting 216 


CHAPTER XXV. 

New Riddle — Discovery — 1830 — Two Doctors added to the Stock — 

Dark Cloud between my Sun and me 227 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Why I make up my Mind to break with Lilia, and how I fail in the 

Attempt — My Confidence in her is shaken 238 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Fantasies Imprisonment — Our Helplessness -ind Despair — Narrow 

Escape 248 

CHAPTER XXVHI. 

The Casaccia Rupture — The Letters Returned — Lilia becomes outra- 


geous . 


260 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


Introduces the Reader to a Queer Market, a Fussy Little Man, and a 

Letter from Fantasio 272 


CHAPTER XXX. 

We enter into Fantasio’s Views, and set to Work accordingly — Rise 

and Progress of the New Association 283 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

I anticipate an Evening of Quiet Enjoyment, and meet with Nothing 

but Vexation — and what comes of it 291 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

Much to Hope, much to Fear — Sudden Alarm — Deceitful Calm — Ca- 
tastrophe ; 302 


6 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Harrow Escape — I am prevailed upon to look to my Safety. . . page 317 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 

After being tried in more Ways than One, the Fugitive embarks for 

the Coast of France 325 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

The Fugitive 338 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

The Fugitive — continued 347 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

The Fugitive — continued 364 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

The Fugitive — continued 864 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

Conclusion of the Voyage and of the Tale 87a 


LORENZO BENONI 


CHAPTER I. 

EARLY EDUCATION, PROSPECTS, PURSUITS, DRAWBACKS, AND 
TRAVELLING ADVENTURES. 

Every day, as surely as the day came, when the clock 
struck eleven, my uncle, the canon, invariably said mass, at 
which I invariably officiated as his assistant. This ceremony 
had long lost the attraction of novelty, having been repeated 
daily for two whole years ; and as, besides, my uncle’s mass 
was very long, it is needless to say that I went through it with 
a feeling of intense ennui. So, when, at a certain moment, 
after having helped the priest to the wine and water, it was 
my duty to replace the sacred vials behind a curtain on the 
left of the altar, I never failed, by way of relief, to take, 
under cover of that same curtain, a long pull at the vial of 
wine. This was only for the fun, as wine was not with me a 
favorite beverage. 

Mass over, while my uncle laid aside his robes, and returned 
thanks in the vestry, I regularly went to the postoffice to fetch 
his letters, which I as regularly placed upon his table-napkin; 
for, by the time that I got home, it was nearly twelve o’clock* 
our dinner hour, and the table was laid. 


8 


.LORKNZO BENONI. 


My uncle, my father’s eldest* brother, lived in a small country 
town, about half-way between Genoa and Nice, where he 
managed, but indifferently well, my mother’s estates, consisting 
chiefly of olive plantations. I do not know the motives which 
induced my father, who resided in Genoa (my mother I do not 
mention, because she w^as not allowed a deliberative voice in 
any matter whatever), to send his first-born, as soon as he 
attained the age of seven years, to the little country town 
above mentioned, there to commence his education under the 
direction of the aforesaid uncle the canon. All I know is, 
that this precedent had been strictly adhered to with my 
second brother Caesar, and with myself the third born, who, 
each in our turn, had been disposed of in the same way,’ that 
is, sent to be fashioned in manners, and initiated in the rudi- 
ments of the Latin tongue, under the shade of our maternal 
olive-trees ; thence to pass to the Royal college* of Genoa, 
which was the second and unavoidable stage of our progress 
in life. 

My uncle was a weak-minded, rather good than bad sort of 
man, about sixty, who spent one half of the year in expecting 
wonders from the approaching crop, and the other half in 
bewailing the failure of his hopes — thus for ever oscillating 
between the two extremes of unbounded expectation and utter 
despair. My uncle had only one distinct idea in his brain — 
olives; only one interest in life — olives; only one topic of 
discussion, either at home or abroad — olives. Olives of every 
size and description — salted olives, dried olives, pickled olives 
— encumbered the table at dinner and supper, and no dish was 
served without the seasoning of olives. All my uncle’s walks, 
in which I was regularly ordered to accompany him, had for 
their sole object to observe the appearance of the olives on the 
trees, and to watch their progress ; and, at a certain period of 
the year, we literally trod on olives, which were strewed a foot 
deep on the floor of our large hall. The very air we breathed 
was impregnated with olive emanations. 

* Let it here, once for all, be noted, that the term college on the Continent 
corresponds to that of public school, not to that of college, in this country, 
which in Italy is called university. 


MY UNCLE THE CANON. 


9 


The rare intervals in which olives were let alone, were em- 
ployed by my uncle in abusing France and Frenchmen. This 
was a sort of secondary hobby with him. What France or the 
French had done to the old canon I do not know, but I well 
remember a certain anecdote on the subject, which he would 
repeat over and over again, with ever-renewed mirth, and no 
little pride. Being once in the vicinity of the Var, where this 
river separates the Sardinian states from France, he had 
crossed the bridge, gone over to the French side, bit his thumb 
at France, and come back triumphant. Let France get out 
of it as she can ! 

My uncle, as I said, was good rather than bad. Unfortu- 
nately Margherita, his old housekeeper, who led him completely 
by the nose, was bad, ratlrer than good. This lady eyed me 
in the light of an intruder in her house, and treated me accord- 
ingly. She grudged me every crumb of bread I ate ; she it 
was who used to help me at table, and she managed it so 
nicely, that though my plate appeared tolerably well furnished, 
still I could scarcely make out of its contents wherewithal to 
satisfy the moderate cravings of an appetite far from voracious. 
The regular meals once over, Margherita would lock up so 
strictly all the remnants, that the most accurate search through- 
out the house could not have brought about the discovery of 
eatables sufficient to treat a mouse with. Eeally, I felt at 
times so hungry, that I could almost have eaten the soles of 
my shoes. Margherita was not to be moved by argument or 
entreaty, and any appeal to my uncle made the matter worse, 
inasmuch as it drew upon me an indefinite number of smart 
boxes on the ear from the worthy lady — a summary proceed- 
ing, which seemed to afford her a good deal of gratification, 
and in which she indulged much oftener than was necessary, 
considering the little, puny, sickly, quiet creature that I was, 
with anything, God knows, but exuberant Iffe about me. 

A tall, lanky, sallow-faced, half-starved young abbe, used to 
come every day after dinner to initiate me into the mysteries 
of the Latin language, at the rate of threepence an hour. 
Threepenny Latin can not be expected to be first rate, which 
will account for my master’s teaching me to decline bonus, 

I* 


10 


LORENZO BENONI. 


honius, comparative honior, superlative bonissimus. Wliat 
struck me most in this worthy gentleman was a mysterious 
complaint of the stomach under which he labored, attacks of 
which would seize him every day, just at the very moment 
when my uncle shut the house-door as he went out to walk. 
The poor man suffered excruciating pains, which could only 
be alleviated by repeated applications to a certain huge green 
wine bottle which stood in a corner of the pantry, wine being 
the only article of consumption which, owing to my not liking 
it, was not kept under lock and key. That wine should act 
as a specific against stomach complaints, was singular enough ; 
but what was still more so was, that whenever my uncle hap- 
pened to stay at home during the lesson, my worthy friend 
would have no attack at all, but, by way of compensation, 
would grow so ill-tempered that he found fault with everything 
I did or said. 

Such was the circle in which I had been revolving for two 
whole years, and in which, according to a decree from head- 
quarters, I was to revolve for twelve months longer, when one 
of our neighbors, a widower of seventy-four, took it into his 
head to marry — an event which, among other effects, had the 
most unexpected one of working a change in my prospects. 

It was and still is a custom in these parts that any 
widower entering afresh into the holy state of matrimony, 
should gratuitously enjoy the treat of a serenade of marrow- 
bones and cleavers. On the close of the wedding day, toward 
dusk, just as we were sitting down to supper, we were startled 
by a fast approaching sound of drums, fifes, and tambourines, 
which drew us to the window. It was indeed a grand sight ! 
The main street, over which we looked, and where the unlucky 
couple lived but three doors from us, swarmed with people. 
Bands of villagers, three abreast, poured in processionally, 
some brandishing lighted pines stuck upon poles, some bearing 
mallow plants as big as trees (a gentle hint to the bridegroom 
to moderate his juvenile ardor). In the centre of the pro- 
cession there was a car, drawn by four donkeys, in which sat 
majestically two enormous pigs,, over which a mallow shrub, 
of such gigantic dimensions that it reached above the first 


A BRIDEGROOM OF SEVENTY FOUR SERENADED. 11 

Story of the houses, formed a vci'daut canopy. Then followed 
a dense throng of men, women, aJid children, provided with 
fifes, horns, drums, pans,, tongs, shovels — everything, in short, 
fit to make a noise. 

The car stopped exactly under the windows of the happy 
spouse, and, upon a signal from the leader of this multifarious 
rchestra, the men began to shout, the women to scream, 
.he asses to bray, the pigs to squeak, the drums to beat, the 
pans to rattle ; in short, a concert arose, loud enough not only 
to rend the ears of the living, but to rouse the dead from their 
ilumbers. 

I enjoyed the sport exceedingly, the only drawback being 
that I could not go and mix in the crowd, and be one of 
i party of urchins whom I admired very much, and whose 
)ccupation it was to shake and drag along big iron chains. 

But my uncle, who was a particular friend of the object 
of the serenade, was quite of another mind. He strongly 
disapproved of the proceedings, said it was a shame, and gave 
the strictest directions that on the morrow (the ceremony was 
to be repeated three days running) all our windows should be 
hermetically closed, and that nobody should stir. The morrow 
came, and with it the serenade, and I was tantalized beyond 
expression : still I kept quiet. But on the third and last day 
the temptation became too strong, and I was not proof against 
it. A little before supper time I managed to slip off unper- 
ceived, and elbow my way through the crowd to the band of 
children whom I had envied so much two evenings before. 
The end of a chain was offered me, and I fell to work con 
amore. While in the full enjoyment of this occupation, Mar- 
gherita made a dart at me, seized me by the collar, and 
dragged me home. 

My uncle sat in state, his table-napkin round his neck. 
That the son of my father, and the nephew of my uncle, said 
he, should disgrace himself so far as to join in such a scandalous 
proceeding, and mix with such a rabble, was more than he 
could stand, and deserved an exemplary punishment. I was 
forthwith sentenced to carcere duro, that is, to imprisonment 
in a low dark cell, once intended for a pantry, which adjoined 


12 


LORENZO BENONr. 


the dining-room ; and, for the time being, I was sent to bed 
without my supper. Next morning Margherita came to me 
betimes, bade me get up, and saw me to my dungeon, from 
which I was not released till bedtime, Avhen she accompanied 
me to my bedroom where I was to sleep. Day followed day 
a week elapsed, and no change in my prospects. I was indeed 
sick at heart. 

The cravings of hunger, which I constantly felt, owing to 
an insufficient allowance of soup and bread, were painful 
enough, but still supportable. The fits of terror that seized 
upon me toward dusk, when darkness thickened in my hole, 
and there was nobody at home, fits of terror originating in 
strange mysterious sounds going on around me, were a hard 
trial indeed, but one which only lasted for a time. ^\hat 
never did cease, what passed all my powers of endurance, what 
made me miserable beyond conception, was a still, heavy, 
poignant, everlasting sense of ennuis that gnawed at my very 
heart’s core, and ate me away inch by inch. To sit there the 
whole day alone, with no lesson, no abbe, no book, no converse 
with anybody — what an inexpressible torture! The very 
noises which frightened me so much, at times were welcome, 
and proved a relief. The pressure of fear at least excluded 
for a time that of ennui. 

And yet I had only a -word to say to be free ; but I would 
not say it. In the partition that divided my prison from the 
dining-room there was a small grated window, through which 
I could hear every word that was spoken on the other side. 
And more than once I had heard the canon broadly hint, 
during dinner-time, that pardon should be granted provided it 
were asked. But I was too highly exasperated at the treat- 
ment I received to bring myself to ask forgiveness, and my 
uncle’s hints dropped all unheeded. My thoughts were bent 
another way ; plans of escape to Genoa were confusedly 
forming in my head. One night I went even as far as the 
house door, and had my hand on the latch, but my heart failed 
me. It was so dark without I 

One day — it was the eleventh of my captivity — after a 
long parley in whispers between Margherita and my uncle, I 


I FLY FK )M JiONDAGF. 


13 


lieard the latter say aloud, “ These are very fine anchovies, 
and I have a mind to send some to that poor boy ; I know he 
likes them.” My heart dilated with pleasure, not so much at 
the prospect of the anchovies, as at the promising change of 
disposition which this unhoped-for boon bespoke. Presently 
Margherita unfastened the door of my cell, came to’ward me, 
and put before me a plate full of — fish bones ! It was a cruel 
joke ! I said nothing, but inwardly I swore that I would be 
off on the morrow — shame on me if I were not. And sure 
enough, off I went. I sat up all night dressed, and at break 
of day stole quietly out, and took the road to Genoa. 

We were in the month of September, and very fine Aveather 
it was. I walked briskly on, frequently stopping to rest. At 
noon it grew very hot, and I had a good long nap in a field 
by the roadside. Many were the passengers who seemed to 
know me, and asked where I was going all alone — a question 
which I constantly answered by naming a place where my 
uncle was wont to visit often, and where, I said, he had sent 
me on an errand. Provisions I had none, nor money where- 
with to buy any, but I ate plentifully of excellent grapes, 
which were no sooner asked than they were given to me, by 
the obliging villagers, whom I happened to see in the vine- 
yards. Toward evening, I entered a small town, where I 
had been before, and where I knew that a new church was 
being built ; so I went straight to the church, laid myself 
down between two large stones, said my prayers, and fell 
asleep. 

The sun was high when I awoke and resumed my journey. 
I had pains in my limbs, my feet Avere sore and SAvollen, and 
I began to entertain serious misgivings as to the possibility 
of reaching my destination on foot. However, I trudged on 
as Avell as I could, and soon came to a small white house, 
half concealed by trees, Avhich I was in the A^ery act of pass- 
ing, when, what was my bewilderment at hearing a well- 
knoAAm voice above my head, say most distinctly, “ There he 
is at last !” I looked up, and saw at one of the AvindoAvs the 
grinning faces of the canon and Margherita, Avho, having 
suddenly lost all trace of me the day before, owing to their 


14 


LORENZO BENONI. 


having unwittingly got a-liead of me during one of my resting 
halts, had put up at this roadside inn, by wdiich I must per- 
force pass, and whence they kept a strict watch upon the road. 
The rest may be easily guessed — a few hours thereafter I was 
once more in that odious home which I had hoped never to see 
again. 

My uncle and Margherita ridiculed me much on my attempt 
at flight ; they called me ever afterward “ the Runaway,” or 
“ the Deserter,” and all visiters w^ere requested to do the 
same. My escape was fraught with no consequences more 
serious than this ; but the canon, who had already informed 
my father of my shameful behavior in the affair of the sere- 
nade, now wrote again to tell at full length of this new 
escapade, giving me into the bargain such a character for a 
self-willed, unruly, stubborn, ungovernable boy, that my father 
saw the necessity of breaking down, without loss of time, this 
rebellious spirit, and made up his mind to send me at once to 
school. 

A few days after the events I have just related, I brought 
home a letter in my father’s well-known hand, upon the 
perusal of which my uncle chose to assume the most solemn 
air. He frowned several times, took some turns up and down 
the little dining-room, then stopping in front of me, and staring 
me full in the face, said, in his most impressive manner, “ De- 
serter, your father calls you back to Genoa, you are going to 
enter school.” 

The prospect 'of a school life was far from pleasant to me ; 
but the life I was actually leading was so miserable and dull, 
that anything like change was welcome ; besides, the convic- 
tion that I must go to college was one coeval in my mind with 
the first glimpse of reason, and formed, as it were, a part of 
my being. So I took the matter more coolly than my uncle 
had probably expected, merely saying, that I was ready to do 
whatever my father wished. 

Now, none of all this might have happened, had not our 
neighbor the widower taken it into his head to marry again ! 

The preparations for my journey took but little time or 
trouble. My whole wardrobe consisted of half a dozen shirts, 


KETURN TO GENOA. 


15 


as many pairs of stockings, a pair of trousers, cut out of one of 
my uncle’s old cassocks, and the suit of fustian I had on. So 
a bundle was quickly made, which I could easily carry under 
my arm, and my departure was fixed for the second day fol- 
lowing — a Tuesday, at seven in the morning. 

My uncle recommended me to a friend of his, a gentleman 
who was going to Genoa on business, and v^ho promised to 
take care of me. On the morning of departure, the old priest 
gave me a dollar, with strict injunctions not to spend it ; a 
small pot of preserved olives, which I was to eat with my 
bread ; finally, his blessing, and away we went. 

The motion of the carriage, a vetturino, which was very 
slow, and to which I was unaccustomed, at first amused me, 
but made me soon uneasy — very uneasy indeed. The gentle- 
man who had the care of me, and who sat opposite, asked me 
several times whether I felt sick, to which, I know not why, 
I as often answered that I did not; but the truth was, that 
I did feel dreadfully sick — to such a degree, indeed, that 
things soon came to a crisis, which proved fatal to my friend 
opposite. This circumstance had the effect of altering, in no 
small degree, his feelings toward me ; for, after giving me 
heartily to the deuce, he took no more notice of me than if 
I had still been in my uncle’s dining-room. So that, when 
after eight and forty hours of shaking, and being sick and 
hungry and miserable, we at last arrived at Genoa, and I got 
out of the coach, I found myself standing alone, and helpless 
enough, in the middle of the piazza of the Artnunziata, with 
my bundle under my arm, and a great inclination to burst into 
tears. I was not yet quite nine years of age. 

Though very young when I left Genoa, my local recollec- 
tions were vivid enough to have enabled me to find my way 
home, had I been put down in any central spot ; but from this 
out of the way place, the task, I felt, was utterly hopeless. 
So I determined to ask my way, and seeing at a little distance 
a group of gentlemen, with whips in their hands, and short 
black pipes in their mouths, I went up to them, and collecting 
all my courage, asked whether they could tell me where Mr. 
Benoni (my father) lived. My question seemed to cause a 


16 


LORKNZO BENONI. 


good deal of mirth among the company, which having sub- 
sided, one of them, a tall black- whiskered fellow, with a black 
silk cap, and glazed hat over it, asked me if I had any money. 
I said, “ Yes, a dollar.” — “ Well, my little fellow, give it to me, 
and I will take you to Mr. What-is-his-name.” I was so 
anxious to get home, that I struck the bargain at once, and 
gave him the dollar. Upon which my new friend bade me 
just wait till he came back, and away he went with the rest 
of the company. I was very tired, and looking about me, 
descried, opposite to where I stood, a wooden bench, near a 
baker’s shop, so thither I went, sat down, and w'aited. I 
waited so long that at last I began to suspect that the man 
and the dollar were both lost, and that I was the victim of a 
knavish trick, a discovery little calculated to raise my de- 
pressed spirits. 

At last, an elderly buxom lady, apparently owner of the 
shop, asked me what I was waiting for so long. I told her 
my story. “ Ah, poor child,” said she, “ you have been most 
shamefully imposed upon ; but who ever thought of sending 
such a little lamb alone on a journey ! Come now, try and 
recollect, and make me understand where your papa’s house 
is.” I mentioned San Giorgio’s church, which I knew to be 
close by. “ That is a long way off,” said she ; “ and when 
you see the church,” she further inquired, “ are you sure you 
can find your way home I answered in the affirmative. 
The good stout lady having whistled twice, a half-naked boy 
came to her summons from the mysterious recesses of the 
shop, and she bade him accompany me to the church I had 
mentioned, and take care of me till I found my father’s door. 
I thanked the kind lady as well as I could, and followed my 
guide. In about half an hour we reached the church, from 
which I had no difficulty in finding my way home. By the 
time I got there I was so weary and dispirited, that I scarcely 
dared to pull the bell. I wondered whether they would admit 
me, or turn me away as an impostor. Admit me, however, they 
did ; and no words can express the relief it was to feel myself 
once more pressed in my mother’s arms, and to burst into a 
passionate fit of tears on her bosom. 


TlJE llnYAI. COLLEGE. 


17 


My mother’s warm caresses and tender care soon dispelled 
that morbid feeling of loneliness and depression so unnatural 
in a child, under which I had labored more or less for two' 
years, and so acutely for this last eight and forty hours. It 
was. so new to me, and so delightful to be loved, to be taken 
care of, to be something to somebody ! But alas ! this sunshine 
was of too short duration. Five days after my arrival, my 
college uniform having been made and brought home, I was 
warned by my father, who had been very cold and distant with 
me, to get ready for the next morning, it being his intention 
that I should enter college oil that day. So next morning I 
got into my new breeches of blue cloth, and dress-coat of the 
same material, with gilt buttons bearing the words “ Royal 
college put on my cocked hat, and after a rather hasty but 
showery leave-taking of my mother and brothers, with a heavy 
heart I followed my father, who was growing impatient. An 
hour thereafter I had passed the fatal gate, and stood in the 
presence of an old priest, whose hand I was directed to kiss, 
and who, after patting me on the head, delivered me over to 
another less aged priest, who took me through several intricate 
passages, the last of which was very long and wide, to a room 
where he in his turn committed me to a third priest, who asked 
my name, wrote it down in a book, and then handed me a 
quire of paper and a pen. 

The room in which I stood was furnished with five long 
rows of large and handsome desks, with wooden forms in front 
for seats. The desks were separated into distinct compart- 
ments, each of which constituted one place. One of these was 
assigned to me, and there I sat, stared at by eighteen boys, 
and staring at them in my turn. 

We will turn to account this pause, to take a glance at the 
internal organization of the community, such as it existed 
in the year 1818 , at which epoch I became one of its mem- 
bers. 

There were in the Royal college at that time about a hun- 
dred pupils, varying from seven to fifteen years of age, separ- 
ated into five divisions of about twenty each, classed according 



18 


LORENZO BENONI. 


to age and height, so as to avoid disparity of appearance, and 
lastly, according to proficiency in study. 

Each division formed an independent whole, possessing its 
own superintendent, its own school-room, its own play-ground, 
its own dormitory. Only at church, and in the refectory, 
did the whole community meet, hut even there without ming- 
ling, each division having its own separate seats, its own sep- 
arate table. 

The Royal college was under the direction of the Reverend 
Somaschi Fathers, one of the monastic orders devoted by their 
institution to the education of youth, and was governed ac- 
cording to the following hierarchy : — 

A Father Rettore — sovereign power, without control or 
appeal — czar and pope in one. 

A Father Vice-Rettore — locum tenens of the first in case 
of absence or illness. 

A Father Ministro — the real executive power, everywhere 
present, and meddling with everything. 

Last of all, the Prefetti, or superintendents. A prefetto 
was placed over each division, and never left it night or day. 
At table, in the school-room, at church, in the play-ground, the 
inevitable prefetto was ever there, ever everywhere. During 
the night, from his bed, placed at the upper end of the dormi- 
tory, he commanded the whole room at a glance, and watched 
that silence and order should not he broken. 

I must add, that the irksome and enslaving duties of pre- 
fetto were so ill remunerated, that none but a starveling of the 
lowest order of priesthood would have accepted the position. 
They were generally men without cultivation or instruction 
of any kind, and pretty well justified our school expression, 
that their tonsure was taken as a ticket of exemption from the 
plough or the conscription. 

Of this establishment I was an inmate for five long years, 
of which God forbid that it should he my intention to give 
any detailed account. The first two may be thus summed 
up — much misery of mind and body, chilblains, blows, an 
angry ugly face requiring some impossible task, and frowm- 
ing and scolding to my infinite terror, and a lovely, sweet 


WE SLIP OVER FOUR YEARS. 


19 


face smiling on me every Thursday (the clay for visiters), and, 
to my infinite comfort, whispering words of tenderness and of 
encouragement. 

As easily and summarily may the next two years be disposed 
of, by saying that matters went on mending slowly, but stead- 
ily ; that the tasks given me became by degrees less impossi- 
ble, then easy enough, then very easy — that I made a friend, 
and grew, in course of time, into a person of some consequence 
in our little community. 

The fifth and last year alone remains, on which I beg leave 
to expatiate a little more at length. The various incidents 
connected with this stage of my school life will afford me an 
opportunity of giving a general idea of the system of education 
then pursued in Piedmont, and may perhaps prove of some 
interest to those at least of my readers who have' preserved 
in mature years that most precious gift — the faculty of occa- 
sionally becoming once more children, and feeling as such for 
a little while. 


20 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


CHAPTEE 11. 

INTRODUCES THE DRAMATIS PERSONS, AND RECORDS THE VIO- 
LENT DEATH OF A SPARROW. 

Four years have elapsed, and the little urchin of the pre- 
ceding chapter is now grown up into a hoy of thirteen — thin, 
pale, and rather tall of his age, who holds a perfectly honora- 
ble, and rather important, hut somewhat uncomfortable posi- 
tion, in the second division, of which he forms a part. 

Sad was the state of things in this division, and hard the 
lot, and complicated the misery, of most of its members ; owing 
partly to the misrule of a brute of a prefetto, on whom we will 
expend a word or two hereafter, but chiefly to a system of 
cruelty, spoliation, and oppression, triumphantly carried on 
by a small minority of four, who lorded it over, trampled upon, 
and treated like negroes, seventeen of their fellow-pupils, the 
immense majority of the set. 

How, when, and by what means, -this abominable tyranny 
had been established, I can not say. All I can say is, that I 
found it in full play when I first entered the second division, 
and that it worked on with a vengeance. We shall endeavor 
to give some idea of it, and briefly sketch the four little rascals 
who were for the time being our lords and masters. 

Anastasius — such was the name of our chief tyrant — was 
a dwarfish, ugly, crooked little fellow, with a disproportion- 
ately big head, a flat nose, and wide mouth, bearing a family 
likeness to a tiger-cat — truly, a youthful Qiiilp. How this 
being devoid of all superiority, physical or moral, insolent 
in prosperity, cowardly in danger, and whose marked charac- 
teristics were unlimited rapacity and cold, sneering cnielty 


A GALAXY OF DESPOTS. 


21 


ever came to exercise such immense ascendency over all around 
him, is still a mystery to me. But the fact was, that he did 
possess this inexplicable power, and to such a degree, that the 
very sound of his voice, most slightly elevated, would make 
the boldest tremble. 

When, even now, after the lapse of thirty years, I think of 
the blasting wretchedness with which this evil genius poisoned 
our youthful years — when I recollect the many sleepless 
nights and bitter tears he cost us — my breast swells, and my 
hand trembles with indignation as I write ! I will mention 
one trait, which appears to me to be characteristic of his na- 
ture. 

At the time of which I write, a great event occupied the 
attention of the whole of Europe — I mean the heroic efforts 
of a handful of Greeks against mussulman oppression. Vague 
accounts of this struggle had penetrated even to our school, 
and I need hardly add that a universal feeling of warm sym- 
pathy was roused among us for the Greek and Christian 
cause. Anastasius alone of our set, and, I believe, of the 
whole school, wished well to the Turks, and called the Greeks 
rebels. 

A couple of boys, remarkably tall, strong, and stupid, the 
two Hercules of the division, formed his body-guard, and acted 
as his merciless executioners. They it was who levied his ex- 
actions — of which a goodly share came to themselves — and 
maintained the strictest subordination, by dint of felling with 
a blow of the fist, or, worse still, cruelly lashing with good 
whip-cord, any unlucky wight who might give the slightest 
symptoms of resistance. 

But, strongly as these two representatives of brute force 
supported the dominion of Anastasius, they were neither the 
only, nor perhaps the most essential prop, of his power. It 
derived its principal strength from the avowed countenance 
and moral sanction of one of the most influential personages 
of the division, the fourth individual in this little galaxy of 
despots. 

Handsome, rich, and generous, with a title and an historical 
name — two circumstances that never fail to impress to a cer- 


22 


LORENZO BENONI. 


tain degree the youthful imagination — the young Prince d’Ur- 
bino was possessed of all that is best calculated to seduce and 
carry along the multitude. The cringing partiality of the 
superiors, and the insinuations of flatterers, who are no less plen- 
tiful at school than in the world, had ended by spoiling a 
naturally good disposition, and had impressed him with a be- 
lief that his title placed him far above his plebeian compan- 
ions, and gave him a right to command them. The prince, I 
must own, used sparingly the power which, in fact, he shared 
with Anastasius, and by which he only profited occasionally, 
for the indulgence of some little personal revenge, for he was 
very vindictive. But even then he adroitly managed to keep 
his colleague in the foreground, so that the odium fell chiefly 
on the latter. This sort of Machiavelian policy, and the habit 
of occasionally blaming pretty freely the doings of Anastasius 
in reference to his exactions, in the fruits of which the prince 
was too rich and proud to share, diverted the general resent- 
ment from himself. He had, besides, when he chose, winning 
ways of his own, which, in spite of all, preserved for him a 
certain degree of popularity. 

Besides these four individuals, conspicuous for their baneful 
influence, myself, and a dear friend of mine — the only two 
representatives of a latent opposition — the rest of our set was 
made up of youths insignificant by nature, of whom it might 
be said more truly than Pope says of the fair sex, “Most 
schoolboys have no character at all” — grumbling from time 
to time when they were ill used, but letting things take their 
course. 

I have too often spoken of exactions not to enter into some 
details respecting their nature, and the mode in which they 
were levied. The first I shall mention was of daily recur- 
rence. A large slice of bread was all that the foundation 
allowed for our breakfast ; but any one who chose to do so, 
was permitted to buy with his pocket-money whatever addi- 
tion he pleased to the meal, an indulgence of which few failed 
to take the benefit. Well, as regularly as breakfast-time 
came, lo and behold ! Anastasius, followed by his two blood- 
hounds, coolly went his rounds, and seized, with all the gravity 


A YOUNG nSTSTRATUS. 


23 


of a tithe-collector, out of the good things spread before his 
eyes — such as hutter, figs, peaches, sausages — a share more 
than sufficient to satisfy his own greediness and that of his 
worthy acolytes. This done, the three would go, and, sitting 
down quietly at their own desks, gorge themselves at our ex- 
pense. 

Such is the force of habit, that this revolting spoliation was 
effected without raising the least remonstrance, and came to 
be looked upon by many as a lawful tax rightfully levied. 
Some of the most mean-spirited would even voluntarily bring 
and offer the best of what they had. 

Again : at dinner and supper, whenever a favorite dish of 
the tyrant’s came on table, we were under the necessity of 
making up for him and his satellites, from off our plates, a por- 
tion ten times as large as our own. Wo to us, I well remem- 
ber, whenever we had rice-pudding or strawberries, two dishes 
that pleased Anastasius’s delicate taste ! 

It was also required of every boy, whose friends came to 
see him in the parlor, or who went home on a holyday, to 
declare what good thing he had brought back with him, two 
thirds of which went legally to the exchequer. If this decla- 
ration was not made, or the least evasion attempted, the cul- 
prit was instantly searched, the whole of the smuggled cargo 
was confiscated, and a good thrashing administered to the 
offender. 

Again : whenever there was a pic-nic or a pleasure-trip, tow- 
ard which every one was to contribute, we were obliged to pay 
for Anastasius and his bull-dogs, and lucky enough we thought 
ourselves when they condescended to receive our offering with 
a good grace. Besides, we had to do for Anastasius and his 
body-guard all their tasks, themes, versions, &c., a work that, 
in fact, usually devolved upon me. 

These were the regularly-established, and, so to speak, 
lawful exactions. As for those which I may term contingent 
or accidental, they were as numerous as the objects which 
might chance to excite the insatiable covetousness of Anasta- 
sius. If any one possessed a book, a penknife, a ball, domi- 
noes, or marbles, which happened to take the tyrant’s fancy, 


24 


LORENZO BENONI. 


it was first hinted to the proprietor that such a present would 
be acceptable, and if the hint was not speedily complied with, 
his desk was broken open, and the thing in question disap- 
peared. 

I have already said that the opposition was represented in 
our microscopic community by myself and a dear friend of 
mine, Alfred. It is time that the reader should become fur- 
ther acquainted with two personages who play so important a 
part in our tale. 

yj At thirteen, I was already more grave and thoughtful than 
most boys of that age. This disposition, scarcely natural in 
one so young, arose from an extreme and somewhat morbid 
sensitiveness, which early brought me acquainted with suffer- 
ing. The slightest thing affected me deeply : a failure in my 
class, a harsh word from a professor, a quarrel with a school- 
fellow, would cause me a passionate flood of tears and violent 
palpitations of the heart, and deprive me of sleep and appe- 

y tite. The consciousness of this morbidly-sensLtive disposition 
rendered me a peaceful being, rather indolent, carefully avoid- 
ing noise and bustle, and loving quiet above all things. 

It was for the sake of this dear quiet that I strove to repress 
the rush of indignant hatred which rose in my young heart at 
sight of the wrongs and cruelties it was so often my hard lot 
to witness. To engage in a struggle against Anastasius and 
Co., were to throw myself into a bottomless sea of trouble and 
care, and bid adieu to everything like tranquillity : better let 
things take their course, and keep quiet. This I felt and told 
myself twenty times a day, yet twenty times a day something 
within me would revolt against such a selfish conclusion, and 
urge me on to action. This something was a strong spirit 
continually wounded by what I saw, and a somewhat roman- 
tic and adventurous turn of mind, which the reading of some 
books of chivalry, that had for me an unspeakable attraction, 
had of late not a little developed. To make myself the re- 
dresser of the wrongs of the whole class — to raise the op- 
piessed, to punish the tyrant — what an enticing prospect for 
an imagination of thirteen, full to the brim of the high deeds 
of Rinaldo, Ruggiero, Orlando, and the whole fraternity of 


ALFKED AND IIIS SPAEROW. 25 

knights-errant ! Tliis, indeed, thought 1, would he a noble 
part, a part worthy of me ! 

And so, torn between conflicting impulses, I was in a state 
of painful suspense, when a circumstance arose that ended all 
irresolution. 

I have mentioned Alfred, a dear friend of mine. He was 
one of those gentle and tender beings who live chiefly in their 
affections, and, too weak to rely upon themselves, need the 
stay of a friendly arm. This support Alfred had found in me. 
When he first entered school, two years before, his compan- 
ions of the third division, in which I then was, had not been 
sparing of the tricks and annoyances which, according to a 
traditional custom as old as the college itself, awaited all new- 
comers. The poor child took this seasoning so much to heart, 
that he cried and sobbed till he made himself seriously ill. 
The forlorn helplessness of the little fellow touched me with 
pity ; so I took him under my protection, sheltered by which 
he had continued to live unmolested ever since. From that 
moment dated the passionate and exclusive attachment, amount- 
ing almost to worship, which he bore me, and which never 
failed me in all our after-life. He was a tender and devoted 
friend, and I loved him with tme brotherly affection. 

Well, then, Alfred happened to possess a tame sparrow. 
He had trained the little creature to perform a variety of 
tricks, and was passionately fond of his favorite. Anastasius 
one day took a whim to send and ask him for the bird. 
Alfred gave a flat refusal. The next day he found his desk, 
in which, since the alarm given by the fancy of Anastasius, 
he had locked up the poor bird, forced open, and the innocent 
little sparrow lying dead, and bearing evident marks of a vio- 
lent end. 

Imagine Alfred’s despair ! he sobbed, he raved, he tore his 
hair. Indignation swelled within me, and at last broke forth. 
I took a high tone, and publicly taxed Anastasius with the fact. 
The feeling of general reprobation at this infamous act of re- 
venge was such, that Anastasius quailed before the accusa- 
tion, and denied all participation in the deed. He averred 
and protested his innocence, and, to all appearance, the mat- 

2 


26 


lorknzo bexont. 


ter ended there. But the catastrojdie liad cut short many 
perplexities in my mind. From tliat moment I felt that such 
a state of things was not to he endured, and vowed internally 
to put an end to it. 

Of course, to accomplish this immediately was entirely out 
of the question. I had no auxiliary but Alfred, and Alfred 
and I, do what we would, were no match for Anastasius A 
Co. There were, it is true, some choice spirits of the first di- 
vision, intimate friends of mine, and personal enemies of Anas- 
tasius, who had urged me more than once to put him down, 
and on whom I knew I could rely ; but their assistance could 
be but temporary, and this Avas not sufficient. It became in- 
dispensable, for the attainment of my object, to Avin over to my 
views, and rally round me, a certain number of my own set — 
an enterprise full of difficulty, but which I Avas sanguine of 
achieving, by throwing into the scale the weight of my name 
and of my personal influence. 

For, however distressing to my modesty, the duty of a vera- 
cious historian compels me to say that my name A\’as an au- 
thority among my fellows. The first in all classes that I fre- 
quented, I had united, in my humble person, at the very time 
I allude to, the three medals of honor — for eloquence, poetry, 
and geometry, a thing perhaps unprecedented in the college. 
This brought me high respect and consideration, not only from 
my peers in my own division, but from the Avhole community. 
The professors A\'ere laAush of their praise, and pointed me out 
to the rest as a bright example ; especially the professor of 
poetry, Avho, in the simplicity of his heart, saw in me, to use 
his classical expression, the future restorer of the Italian Par- 
nassus ! The superiors of the college also, proud of a pupil 
who did honor to the establishment, treated me Avith a degree 
of regard shown to feAv. 

Besides, the assistance I readily and easily gaA^e my com- 
rades in helping them through the difficulties of their tasks, 
rendered me highly popular. It Avas constantly, “ Lorenzo, do 
correct this” — “Lorenzo, just look OA’er that, there’s a good 
fellow by doing which, willingly and good-naturedly, I not 
only saved my companions from reproach and punishment, but 


GROUNDS FOR SELF-RELIANCE. 


27 


often earned them compliments and rewards. All these things 
considered, I hope it may not seem presumptuous to say that 
I entertained a certain degree of confidence in the influence 
of my example, and the authority of my name. 

Alfred, of course, was the confidant of my projects, or rathei 
the passionate admirer of the deep plans inspired by my ge 
nius. He already, in his enthusiasm, would call me Salvatm 
Patrice. To him I intrusted the delicate commission of sound 
ing two of our companions, whom I thought worth the trial, 
hut Alfred returned very downcast. His overtures had been 
received with marked and almost insulting coldness. 

“Never mind, we will do without those shabby fellows,” 
said I. “A little patience, Alfred, and never fear but I will 
find a way.” I did not very well know, in truth, what the 
way was to be. The only thing I was quite clear about was, 
a firm determination to seize the first opportunity of a quarrel 
with Anastasius or the prince, to break publicly with either of 
them, and so stand forth at once as head of an opposition party. 
“ If my example rouses no one to join me,” thought I, “ why 
theirs is an iron sleep indeed, from which no trumpet can 
awake them.” I strengthened myself in this resolution, which 
I did not even confide to Alfred, by reading some of Alfieri’s 
most spirit-stirring tragedies, and waited for the wished-for 
occasion with the calm of an old Roman. 

A circumstance soon arose, calculated to goad me on still 
more by the stings of wounded personal pride ; and by its con- 
sequences' to open the way to that point which I held steadily 
in view. 


28 


I-ORENZO BENONT. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE PRINCE CARRIES THE DAY, BUT I SPOIL HIS TRIUMPH. 

One eventful day a stirring expectation electrified both mas- 
ters and pupils, and the habitual calm of our community had 
given place to an extraordinary excitement. 

His majesty King Charles Felix, then visiting Genoa, con- 
descended, on this very day, to receive a deputation from the 
college, commissioned to carry to the foot of the throne an 
humble expression of the loyal gratitude and devotion of the 
community toward their august patron. The deputation was 
to he composed of the Father Rettoi e and Vice-Rettore, accom- 
panied by five pupils, who were to he selected by the former 
from the five divisions, and presented to his majesty. Who 
the five elect were to be was still a secret in the hook of Fate. 

“ Who will it he such was the thrilling question that every 
one put to every one, and on which every conversation, in ev- 
ery division, turned. Many a heart heat quick and high at 
that moment, if I may judge by my own. 

Opinions in the second were divided between the prince and 
me. We were the two likely candidates, the prince on ac- 
count of his title, and in part also because of some success in 
the class of rhetoric, which, in fact, he chiefly owed to the 
favor of the professor, and to a certain clever knack of plagiar- 
ism ; I, of course, on account of those transcendent merits with 
which, dear reader, I have already acquainted you, and of my 
three noble decorating medals. 

It was a Thursday, a half-holyday, and Ave Avere in the 
play-ground, a spacious, oblong square, surrounded by a colon- 


A THRILLING QUESTION DECIDED. 


29 


nade sufficiently wide to shelter our turbulent games on rainy 
days. We had formed one group in the middle, and were still 
debating the all-absorbing topic, every one with his ears upon 
the stretch to catch the first word of the longed-for announce- 
ment. 

“ I bet my share of sweetmeats on the prince,” cried a fawn- 
ing fellow, on seeing him approach. “ Who takes the bet 

“I!” retorted Alfred eagerly, “and here is my new ball 
into the bargain, on Lorenzo,” The reader should be informed 
that on this solemn occasion we had an extraordinary allow- 
ance of sweetmeats, and a glass of Malaga wine at dessert. 

“ Lorenzo ! pooh !” exclaimed the prince with a shrug, and 
all eyes turned upon me. 

“ And why not, please your highness ?” said I, piqued to the 
quick ; “ if chance did not make me a prince by birth, some- 
thing better has made me prince three times.” At these words 
I touched the three silver stars that hung upon my breast, for 
each of which I was called “ prince” of the class in which I 
had won it. The repartee, and the majestic gesture that fol- 
lowed it, produced a visible impression upon the surrounding 
group. 

At this moment, a window opening noisily arrested every 
one’s attention. The Father Ministro looked forth from it 
upon the play-ground. “ Prince,” cried he in a loud voice, 
“ dress yourself quickly — you are to go to the king !” These 
last words were pronounced with a solemnity almost awful. 

I felt myself turn pale. The prince triumphant placed the 
thumb of his right hand under his chin, and moving up and 
down the other four fingers, pointed toward me, and walked 
away backward. As this gesture, with slight modifications, 
belongs to all countries, I will not weaken its meaning by 
endeavoring to give it a determinate signification. As for me, 
I followed him, declining as loud as possible, rosa, rosce^ which 
was considered the bitterest insult that could be offered to a 
student in rhetoric, as it amounted to saying, “You don’t know 
the first declension.” 

I have met with many a disappointment in life, but none 
ever affected me so painfully as this. It was a first and bitter 


30 


LORENZO BENONI. 


disenchantment. To speak candidly, I had never looked upon 
the prince as a serious competitor in the affair of the presenta- 
tion at court, and I made so sure of being prefeiTed, that my 
failure took me quite by surprise. I felt both offended and 
humiliated by the precedence accorded to my rival. Not 
that I presumed too much on my own merits, but my impres- 
sion, as well, indeed, as that of the lilliputian society in which 
I moved, was that rank and title could never vie with distinc- 
y tions such as those which I could boast. Birth and rank were 
held at college in the light of unimportant advantages ; and 
a dunce, let him be born a marquis or a duke, was no less a 
dunce with us, and no less treated as such. The only aristo- 
cracy we acknowledged at school was that of talent, and of 
physical strength united to spirit. 

To be presented to the king ! I would have given my 
success, my medals, my very blood, to have a near view of that 
monarch, whom my fancy painted as so brilliant, so handsome, 
so good. I had cherished the prospect of this intoxicating 
happiness for one long month, till it had grown into a 
certainty. My dreams, alas ! my poor dreams ! I had 
imagined what the king, all gracious, would say — his ques- 
tions, my answers. I had even pictured to myself my attitude 
and looks. His majesty was of course to notice me for my 
intelligence and good bearing, and then why should he not 
make me one of his pages'? These pages, with their long 
flowing hair and short velvet cloaks, just as I had seen them 
in pictures and in the frescoes of our college church, were to 
me a perfect article of faith. Once a page, I should like to 
know what was to prevent me from becoming influential, nay, 
all-powerful at court? For a page to become all-powerful, 
was it not a regular thing ? I had heard so many tales of 
the kind ! 

And then, let the tyrants look to themselves ! Anastasius 
& Co. shall expiate in a dungeon — but no, let them go, and 
never show their faces again. Banishment will be sufficient. 
Alfred shall have a regiment of those fine light horse, of which 
he is so fond on account of their red shakos and white feathers 
— I had arranged everything so nicely, and now nothing — 


DUNCES FOR EVER ! 31 

nothing but bitter disappointment ! All my hopes cut off in 
the bud, all my future blasted ! 

The other boys selected Avere tAvo sons of a Spanish grandee, 
the son of a Piedmontese general, and the heir of a Avealthy 
planter of the isle of Cuba, all A ery suitable persons Avith 
respect to rank and fortune, but of Avdiom it might truly be said, 
to use an English expression, that they Avere not likely to set 
the Thames on fire. Why, the prince Av^as quite a lion among 
them ! No place, not one, had been reserved to real merit ! 

This choice may probably appear less extraordinary to my 
reader than it did to me at the time. The reverend fathers 
Avho conducted the Royal college, and avIio Avere, above all, 
the humble servants of the ruling powders, kneAv very well that 
docile subjects and not troublesome reasoners were desired at 
their hands. HoAvever proud, therefore, they might be of the 
pupils who distinguished themselves, they took good care to 
make no show of them at a court Avhere talent was the worst 
recommendation, and a title, or a feAv millions, the best. At 
that time especially, enlightened ideas Avere a very bugbear 
in high quarters. To such were OAving the late insurrectionary 
movements of Naples and Piedmont. So it was thought high 
time to put an end to this sort of thing. As a beginning, the 
universities of Turin and Genoa had been closed, and the 
programme of education laid doAAm by Francis the First, 
emperor of Austria, Avas fast making its Avay into Piedmont. 
In answer to a plan of public instruction, laid before him at 
Milan by a distinguished professor, his imperial majesty had 
said laconically, “ All too much. If my subjects know how to 
read and AAU’ite, it is quite enough.” 

To return. I concealed my deep vexation under an appear- 
ance of forced gayety, and continued the whole day to cut up, 
with most biting jokes, the famous deputation of ^'eese, as I 
called it. Late in the evening the said deputation returned. 
The prince of course Avas glorious. The Avhole division formed 
a circle round him, silent and open-mouthed. Then began his 
account of the day’s Avonders. It sounded like a tale in the 
Arabian Nights. 

A magnificent coach and four had set down the deputation 


32 


LOIiENZO BENONI. 


under the porticoes of the Royal Palace, at the foot of the 
marble staircase leading to the state apartments. A master 
of the ceremonies, in a suit of black, and with a sword by his 
side, had met them there, led them up stairs, and across a 
vestibule thronged with a brilliant croAvd of generals, cham- 
berlains, and courtiers. It was like a waving sea of many- 
colored plumes, shakos, epaulettes, and bright embroideries. 
They were there handed over to a chamberlain, covered with 
gold lace, who ushered them through a suite of apartments, 
compared to which those of the calif of Bagdad were as 
nothing, into the royal antechamber. A short stoppage, and 
a door was opened, and the king — the king in person, resplen- 
dent like a sun — was before them ! His majesty rose, came 
toward them, tapped the prince on the cheek, asked kindly 
after his papa and mamma, inquired how old he was, what 
class he was in, hade him be good, &;c. 

When they retired from the royal presence, away they went, 
full gallop, to the villa of General San Martino, father of one 
of the happy elect. A splendid dinner there awaited them, 
during which a military band was playing in the gardens. 
They were petted, courtei, overwhelmed with good things, 
and nosegays — in short, every moment brought them some 
new pleasure. And after all this, on their way home — and 
this really seemed a dream — they were allowed to go into a 
cafe ! Reader, do you understand % really and truly into a 
cafe ! That utterly forbidden fruit to the schoolboy, and 
therefore most ardently longed for — they had tasted of it to 
their hearts’ content. Yes, into a cafe they went, examined 
the list of ices and wines, ordered the waiters about, drank 
punch, and gave themselves all sorts of manly airs. 

This day, so long and sad to me, had passed like lightning 
for the prince, in an uninterrupted series of triumphs and 
pleasures. While I was struggling to repress my tears of bitter 
disappointment, he was exhausting every species of enjoyment, 
of which even the delirious imagination of a schoolboy could 
dream. 

Every word of this fairy tale was to me like a drop of 
boiling oil upon a wound, and in spite of all my efforts to 


BITLXG SAECASMS. 


33 


conceal my feelings, envy and vexation no doubt betrayed 
themselves to a certain degree in my face. My countenance, 
even to this day, is a tell-tale, which, do what I will, I can 
not control. Nature did not intend me for diplomacy. “ You 
look uneasy, Lorenzo !” said the prince, suddenly fixing his 
eyes upon me. 

What a capital opportunity of casting one drop of bitterness 
into his cup of bliss ! I could not let it slip, so I answered in 
the softest tone : “Not in the least, my dear fellow^ if I felt 
any uneasiness it was on your account, but your narrative has 
completely dispelled it.” 

“ What uneasiness, in Heaven’s name, could you feel about 
me ?” asked the prince with the accent of displeased surprise. 

“ Why, a very natural one,” returned I. “ Suppose that the 
king, instead of asking you about papa, mamma, and so on, 
had asked you something about your studies — some question 
in history, for instance ” 

“ Well, what then ! I should have answered like anybody 
else.” 

“ That was just the point I did not feel so sure of. Suppose 
that his majesty had asked you the number of unities required 
by Aristotle in a tragedy, or when and by whom the Italian 
Sonnet was invented, you would have been sorely puzzled to 
answer.” 

The prince winced under the sneer, the more so as he could 
not deny, and of course would not admit his ignorance on 
these subjects. “ You are not my examiner, that I know of,” 
retorted he, in a would-be dignified manner, “ so I shall not 
take the trouble to prove the contrary.” 

“ Well, just give us a slight definition of poetry in general,” 
urged I, “ and let alone all the rest.” 

“ Upon my word,” cried the prince, “ I do not know why 
you give yourself such airs of superiority. Must we fall at 
your feet, and adore genius in your worshipful person ?” 

This sarcasm, followed by a profound bow of mock humility, 
caused a general burst of laughter. “ It is not necessary,” 
returned I coolly, “ to be a genius in order to know a little 
more than you do.” 


2 * 


34 


LOEENZO BENONI. 


Oil ! as to that, I am just as good as you any day,’* 
retorted the prince, “ and I hope I have given proofs of that, 
especially in poetry.” 

Here he had ventured on dangerous ground. “ Why that 
miserable second prize,” returned I, has turned your brain, 
I do believe, and yet you owe it to a sonnet of Frugoni, which, 
moreover you spoiled in copying.” 

That’s a calumny,” cried the prince, turning red as fire. 

“ I could prove it on the hook,” said I, “ if I choose, but I 
do not. We shall see, however, if I do not find a way to euro 
you of your pretensions to poetry.” 

The hell that summoned us to rest put an end to this stormy 
debate, and we took our several ways to bed. 


A CAPITAL IDEA. 


35 


CHAPTER IV. 

DEEP SCHEMES, AND A QUEER LECTURER. 

My object in dropping the few hints that had so stung the 
prince to the quick, was less to pick a quarrel than to cause 
him momentary annoyance. A quarrel, however, had ensued, 
and I was not sorry for it ; the less so that the turn which 
the dispute had taken toward the end had suggested to me a 
capital idea. 

It was quite customary in our college for one pupil to call 
out another, in presence of a professor, to a trial of skill in 
some kind of composition, either prose or verse ; and the stake 
was generally a certain number of what were termed points 
of diligence^ which were nothing else than large commas in- 
scribed under the respective name of each pupil, and having 
a convenient value, representing the amount of industry and 
diligence displayed by him in the various daily tasks. At 
the end of the year, the pupils possessed of the highest number 
of these points were entitled to certain prizes. The guardian 
of the important volume, in which they were registered upon 
an order of the professor, was held in high honor, and was 
called the decurion. 

These trials of skill were much encouraged by the profes- 
sors, as a means of promoting useful emulation, and were 
termed in our scholastic language challenges. So I determined 
to challenge the prince in poetry ; and already I was so im- 
patient for the next afternoon’s lecture, that I could hardly get 
to sleep for thinking of it. 

Alfred came to me next morning rubbing his hands. “ Do 
you know, Lorenzo, that what you said last night about the 


36 


LORKNZO BKNONI. 


stolen sonnet has made quite a commotion among our fellows? 
They have got hold of the volume of Frugoni ; it is all just as 
you said : the prince’s sonnet is a barefaced plagiarism, merely 
copied, and Frederic, wliQ ought by rights to have had the 
prize, is furious.” 

“ And well he may,” answered I. 

“ You will get him on our side, won’t you ?” cried Alfred. 

“ Yes, yes, all in good time ; but I have something on hand 
just now. Do you suppose that I have done with the prince 
already ?” 

“ I don’t exactly know,” answered Alfred, “ hut I dare say 
you have some great plan in your head.” 

“ Eightly guessed,” said I, in the tone of a Napoleon on 
the eve of the 18 th Brumaire ; “ this very day I challenge 
him.” 

“ Capital !” cried Alfred clapping his hands; hut, on seeing 
me lay my fingers upon my lips to enjoin silence, he changed 
that expression of delight into half-a-dozen capers. 

The lecture on oratory came in the morning ; that on poetry 
in the afternoon. So, when the bell rang for the former, which 
I was obliged to' attend, I gathered my books under my arm, 
much annoyed at the delay of my wishes. The reader may 
as well go with me into the lecture-room, where a very odd 
professor and a strange scene will be presented to his view. 

The regular lecturer happening to be ill in bed, a supple- 
mentary professor filled his place — a thin, sallow, lanky priest 
of about thirty. His real name has escaped my memory, for 
he always wxnt among us by the appellation of Sjnderlegs, 
owing to the disproportionate length of his nether limbs, which 
gave him the appearance of a clerical shaven crown upon 
stilts. 

Poor Spiderlegs ! sublimely pre-eminent in both absurdity 
and endurance ! Great, unknown martyr, forgive the involun- 
tary smile that will come when I pronounce thy name, for the 
sake of the tear which rises at the same time ; and may the 
deep and sincere emotion of the man in retracing thy suffer- 
ings, redeem in part the wrongs inflicted by the unreflecting 
child along with his companions / 


A QUEER LECTURER : POOR SPIDERLEGS ! 37 

The excessive tendency to familiarity which characterizes 
childhood, requires on the part of a teacher, to keep it from 
degenerating into rude disrespect, a nicety of judgment which 
few possess — and Spiderlegs least of all. This was the rock 
on which most of our superiors split, ’with the exception of the 
Father Rettore and of the professor of poetry. For poor 
Spiderlegs there was no chance. We all know how merciless 
children are toward physical defects, and his were such, that 
he seemed formed by nature to be their laughing-stock and 
butt. He possessed not one quality which could command 
respect — no learning, no manners, no taste, no brilliant or 
solid qualities of any kind, to redeem in any degree the awk- 
wardness of his appearance. On the contrary, a vulgar em- 
phasis, absurd gestures, a rage for incorrect quotations, and a 
turn for floundering into subjects quite beyond his depth, com- 
bined to make of him the most grotesque caricature. 

I must further mention one of his foibles, quite incompre- 
hensible in one so ill formed. His strange figure would have 
been perfectly veiled by the priest’s long gown, such as is 
commonly worn in our country ; but, as if to display his de- 
formity to its best advantage, Spiderlegs had had the weak- 
ness to adopt the short ecclesiastical coat, knee-breeches, and 
black silk stockings, a rather modern innovation, first intro- 
duced by some abbe anxious to show off his handsome limbs. 
The most serious man could not have refrained from a smile 
at sight of Spiderlegs, with his head complacently bent on one 
side, his short cloak tucked up under his arm, his elbows 
squared, his toes turned out, tripping forward with a sort of 
skip at every step, which gave him a family likeness to a 
magpie wagging its tail as it hops along. 

The lecture begins — Spiderlegs is in his professor’s desk, 
which is exactly like a pulpit. How often has he stood there 
as in a pillory, a mark for the mocks and gibes of his turbulent 
class ! The pupils, one after another, enter the hall, each 
holding his coat-tails under his arm, and mimicking, with 
mock gravity, all the ridiculous peculiarities of the professor’s 
gait. Presently, the pupils stand in' a row, in the middle of 
the hall, to repeat their lesson. The lesson is said admirably — 


38 


LORENZO BKNONI. 


not a word is omitted. The professor lavishes praise and 
encouragement upon this extraordinary diligence, amid the 
titterings, to him quite incomprehensible, of the whole set ; till 
one unlucky, near-sighted fellow begins to hesitate and stam- 
mer. Spiderlegs frowns. “ Are you not ashamed,” cries he, 
“ to fall so far short of your companions 1 Follow the example 
they have set you.” Renewed hilarity. “ Go nearer,” says a 
voice. “ You ought to have put on spectacles,” cries another. 
“We’ll write larger another time,” breaks in a third. The 
direction of all eyes leads at last those of the bewildered lec- 
turer to look over his desk, and there he sees, just beneath 
him, and facing the pupils, a huge paper, with the lesson of 
the day written in capital letters. He tears it ojff indignantly, 
and flings the pieces about him with rage. 

The themes are then called for, but scarcely a dozen out 
of fifty can be collected. Spiderlegs exclaims against such 
an enormous deficit, and asks of those who have failed how 
this comes about. Now for the best of the joke. One, with 
a lamentable air, shows his cheek dreadfully swelled from 
toothache, which was of course, a moment before, in its 
natural state. Another has dislocated his wrist, and exhibits 
it to the professor, shockingly contracted. A third raises his 
fore-finger, bound round with a heap of rag — he has cut him- 
self to the bone. Others audaciously assert that they have 
given in their theme, and that it must have been mislaid, and 
set about hunting for it, of course only creating disorder. Poor 
Spiderlegs must be satisfied with what he has got, and begins 
to read. 

The professor having made up his mind to this, his audience 
make up theirs, some to lean with their elboAvs on their desks 
to take a little nap as comfortably as they can, others to have 
a game of draughts, others to play at odds or evens. A battle 
with paper arrows begins between the day scholars and the 
boarders, seated at the opposite sides of the hall, while the 
rest, who have no particular occupation, set to talking, laugh- 
ing, or quarrelling, with the same freedom as if no professor 
at all were present. The poor man pretends to see nothing, to 
hear nothing, till the noise posith’-ely drowns his voice. “ Gen- 


MARTYRDOM AN UPROAR. 


39 


tlemen,” says he at this crisis, “ this disturbance is quite im- 
proper, it prevents those who have the will to pay attention 
from doing so. I entreated yesterday, and I do entreat again 
to-day, those who do not care to listen to carry out their con- 
versation there ” — pointing to some empty benches at the 
further end of the hall. “ The studious and the well-disposed 
— who are, I am sure, the great majority here — will thus at 
least not be disturbed by the noise.” 

He had no sooner finished speaking, than the whole audience 
rose in a body and went over to the forms pointed out for the 
perturbators. I will spare the reader the roars of laughter 
and the concert of jokes that accompany this migration. The 
unfortunate martyr hides his face in the attitude of one in deep 
meditation. None guesses that he weeps bitter tears ! 

But his trials are not yet at an end. Like drunkards, 
whose thirst is stimulated not satisfied by drinking, so with 
the wild young crew the rage for inflicting torture increases 
by indulgence. 

Profound silence suddenly takes place. Pigna, renowned 
for practical jokes, winks to his companions, and moves toward 
the professor’s desk with a demure look, and a book in hand. 
He rouses the attention of Spiderlegs by pointing out a line, 
and the motion of his finger denotes that he asks the explana- 
tion of a knotty passage. The lecturer stoops over the book. 
Pigna watches his opportunity, and, holding his book in his 
left hand, with his right he suddenly flings into the professor’s 
face a ball of paper moulded for the purpose. 

The martyr’s patience is at an end. A livid hue over- 
spreads his face, his lips tremble, his eyes roll wildly in search 
of the culprit. At last the storm bursts on the head of a poor 
fellow quite unprepared. Spiderlegs, who has caught the boy 
smiling, rushes from his desk, catches hold of him, and begins 
thumping with all his might. “ It wasn’t I, it was Pigna,” 
cries the victim. Now comes Pigna’s turn. Spiderlegs flies 
at him, but meets with vigorous resistance. Help on all sides 
comes up for Pigna, forms are upset, books fly, confusion is at 
its height. 

The Father Ministro and one of the prefetti, attracted by 


40 


LORENZO BENONI. 


the noise, make their appearance at this critical conjuncture, 
and with some difficulty separate the combatants. The profes- 
sor escapes with the loss of half his cloak, and Pigna, with 
another ringleader, is condemned to the table of repentance, 
that is, a table at Hhe farther end of the refectory, where 
culprits did penance on bread and water. 


A P(^PULAR PROFESSOR. 


41 


CHAPTER V. 

WHEREIN THE LATE SECOND PRIZE IS CURED OP HIS PRETENSIONS 
TO POETRY. 

Three hours later, the same hall which had been the scene 
of such uproar and riot in the morning, presented a totally 
different, and far more edifying picture. The pupils were bent 
in silent attention over their books, and order and propriety 
prevailed throughout. Only a few words were exchanged 
from time to time, and always in a subdued and cautious tone ; 
not from servile fear, for there was no attempt at concealment, 
but evidently from respect for the occupation of the rest. It 
seemed almost impossible that these should be the same youths, 
so riotous and unruly in the morning ; and the man who, by 
his presence alone, could operate such a metamorphosis, de- 
serves a few words of introduction to the reader. 

Signor Lanzi, our professor of Latin and Italian poetry, 
was a man about forty, with a considerable tendency to cor- 
pulence, which, however, a tall, well-proportioned figure 
carried off very well. He wore gold-rimmed spectacles, had 
a rather high-colored complexion, and a countenance expres- 
sive of serene benevolence. Gentle and intelligent was his 
smile, and his voice sweet and melodious ; but the influence 
he exercised upon his numerous audience depended chiefly 
upon that natural refinement of manners which wins affection 
while it imposes involuntary respect. There is nothing that 
so surely commands reverence from young people as treating 
them with a certain degree of regard, which makes it a 
point of honor on their part to strive to merit the good opinion 
indicated. 


42 


LORENZO BENONI. 


But, perhaps, the circumstance which had the greatest share 
in tlie authority and popularity of our lecturer on poetry, was 
that of Signor Lanzi’s not being a priest. Had he been a 
priest or a monk, two words synonymous among us with ty- 
rant and fool, he would infallibly have met with a systematic 
opposition, and an amount of ill-will, which he would no doubt 
in course of time have overcome, though not without a struggle. 
As he wore boots and a round hat, instead of a clerical three- 
cornered one, and black silk stockings, he found no unfavora- 
hle prepossession against him, and Ave soon felt that we might 
yield ourselves to his guidance without degradation. Such at 
least was our college reasoning, and I give it for Avhat it is 
worth. Signor Lanzi possessed, besides, intrinsic merits more 
than sufficient to captivate our young minds. 

His erudition in Greek and Latin literature was really pro- 
digious, and he was very well versed in archaeology. There 
was hardly an author, Greek or Roman — even the most ob- 
scure — that he had not analyzed, dissected, passed through the 
crucible of his brain ; hardly a scholium or a commentary that 
he had not himself commented upon. It was a real pleasure 
to hear Signor Lanzi earnestly dissert, for hours, on the Catonis 
animum atrocem of Horace, or on the substitution of an r for a 
V in the Avord Diva. 

You would have supposed from the solemnity of his tone, 
that the fate of the whole world rested upon the question. 
He Avas exclusive in his admiration of the classics, and he 
would positively work himself up to the point of Aveeping 
over Fans Blandusim, splendidier vitro, while the beauties of 
Shakspere and Schiller left him quite unmoA^ed. Indeed, he 
hated innovators as much as he could hate anything, and 
would, I believe, willingly have seen them consigned to an 
auto-da-fe. Such was the man who had undertaken to make 
poets of us. 

To return to my subject. It will be remembered hoAv im 
patiently I had Availed for the lecture on poetry, to challcvge 
the prince. I had preA'iously examined the register of the 
foints of diligence, and found that I had about 900, Avhile the 
prince had scarcely a hundred. Half an hour or so after the 


A WELL-TIMED QUOTATION. 


43 


opening of the lecture, seizing a favorable moment, I rose, and 
addressing the professor, “ With your permission,” said I, “ I 
have a challenge to propose.” 

“ Ever full of ardor, Mr. Lorenzo,” observed Signer Lanzi, 
smiling and taking ojff his spectacles ; “ that is just like you. 
And whom do you intend to challenge V 

“ The late second prize, the prince,” said I. 

The name I uttered chased away the smile, and brought in 
its place an expression of some embarrassment, which may be 
easily accounted for. The prince had been most particularly 
recommended to Signor Lanzi by the family of the youth, who 
were rich and powerful, and at whose table the learned pro- 
fessor was a frequent and welcome guest. The good easy 
man had his little weaknesses, and liked to keep well with 
such friends. It was, therefore, with the evident intention of 
slightly intimidating me, and sparing his protege humiliation, 
that he resumed after a pause, in a half-caressing, half-warning 
tone, “ Have a care, Mr. Lorenzo ; you throw the gauntlet to 
a powerful antagonist. I advise you to consider of it.” 

“ Est Deus in nohis, agitante callescimus illo,^' replied I. This 
classical quotation restored the smile to Signor Lanzi’s lips, 
and car/.ed the point for me. “If the prince has no objec- 
tion,” said the kindly man. 

“ The prince,” interrupted I hastily, “ can have no objection. 
No longer ago than yesterday evening he said to all who chose 
to hear, that he was not afraid of me.” 

“ And I repeat it,” cried my antagonist, provoked to the ut- 
most by the irony of my tone. 

“ So much the better,” said I. “You accept, then, the chal- 
lenge I offer you, in any metre, and on any subject. I stake 
my 943 points of diligence against your 109, a slight advan 
tage, which I can easily give you.” 

The professor rebuked me gently for this little bravado, ob- 
serving that modesty was the best complement of real merit. 
He assigned as our subject “ The Death of Philoctetes” and 
allowed us two days for our composition. 

If it was in my nature to enter upon no enterprise without 
long and mature consideration, it was in my nature also, when 


u 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


once set upon an undertaking, to cany it throngk with unre- 
mitting ardor and perseverance. So, an hour after the dia- 
logue I have just quoted, I was already seated at my desk in 
the schoolroom*, with a huge sheet of paper before me, looking 
up to the ceiling for inspiration, twisting my hair through my 
fingers, biting the end of my quill ; in short, in all the fever of 
composition. And after the lapse of a few minutes— the ar- 
dent wish to humble my antagonist standing me instead of a 
muse — the verses began to flow rapidly ; and toward the close 
of the second day I had before me an enormous poetical 
rhapsody, corrected, polished, and ready to be fairly copied 
out. 

That I was very well satisfied with my performance I must 
own ; and well I might be, considering the feat I had achieved, 
in diluting and amplifying into four hundred lines what might 
perfectly well have been compressed into a hundred. 

However absorbed in my work during these two days, I had 
not failed to mark certain mysterious on-goings around the 
prince. Books and notes were constantly passing to and fro 
among his coterie. I smiled at these manoeuvres, which proved 
only his embarrassment. But this calm state of mind soon 
changed to one of great anxiety. I had just copied, in my 
best round hand, the title, “ The Death of Phil octet es,^^ when I 
received a note, secretly passed from hand to hand till it 
reached me. It came from one of my best friends of the first 
division. He urged me to go out to him immediately, as he 
had something important to tell me, which he dared not trust 
to paper. I instantly pretended to be seized with bleeding at 
the nose, and got leave to go out. I found my friend waiting. 
“Well, what is the matter?” inquired I. “The matter is,” 
said my friend, “ that I am sure the prince does not play fair. 
This morning I surprised one of our fellows, Collareta, copying 
out of a volume, of which, however, I could not see the title, a 
Death of Philoctetes, in blank verse ; and I will lay any wager 
that by this time Barilli of your division, who has been prowl- 
ing about near our hall the whole morning, has managed to 
convey the copy to the prince.” 

The blood froze in my veins at this announcement. It was 


PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT THE FROG SWELLS. 


45 


a fact, which I now recollected, that Barilli, who had longj 
since positively assumed the part of valet to the prince, had 
been absent from our schoolroom almost all the morning; and 
that, when he returned, he had gone straight to the prince, and 
held a moment’s conversation with him. The prince, I re- 
marked, looked singularly satisfied at the time. 

“Well,” said I to my friend, “there is no time to be lost. 
The first thing is to find out^whose the volume is, and the next 
to get it at any cost, if only for twenty -four hours.” 

“Very easy,” returned he, “to know whose the volume is; 
indeed, I am pretty sure it is Pernetti’s ; but to get hold of it 
is quite another question.” 

“ I tell you I must have it. Beg, borrow, or steal, I must 
and will have it. Why, my honor is at stake ! Promise or 
threaten what you will. All that Alfred and I possess, take 
all, dispose of all, but get me the volume.” King Richard’s 
voice crying, “My kingdom for a horse !” did. not thrill with 
more emotion than did mine. My friend caught the passion 
which animated my words and looks, and vowed he would do 
everything in the world to satisfy me. He set about the busi- 
ness in the right way apparently, for at the end of two long 
hours of torturing anxiety, the blessed book was in my hands. 
I was ready to jump and dance for joy. 

The prince, in the meantime, was rubbing his hands in evi- 
dent delight. “ Repeat us some of your verses,” said he to 
me sneeringly, as we came back from a walk. 

“ I do not remember them by heart,” answered I ; “ you will 
hear them soon enough.” 

“ Suppose,” continued the prince, “ we were to add some lit- 
tle thing to the stake ?” 

“ I never cheat,” returned I, “ and to bet when one is sure 
of winning is cheating.” 

“ Indeed, what exquisite delicacy of feeling !” cried he, 
bursting into a horse-laugh. 

His insolence was to me a proof that he had really copied. 
“ Well,” thought I, “ swell at your ease, poor frog of the fable ; 
to-morrow you are sure to burst !” 

At length the decisive hour arrived. The repeating of the 


46 


LORENZO BENONI. 


lessons and tlie collecting of the Avritten exercises haAnng been 
gone through, Signor Lanzi took into his hands the tAvo mo- 
mentous manuscripts. Mine Avas tied Avdth blue riband, the 
prince’s Avith red. A half-suppressed “ Oh !” of excitement 
and satisfaction ran through the Avhole class. 

“We Avill begin by reading the composition of the prince,” 
observed the professor ; “ being the challenged, this is his right.” 
The prince rose, and, Avith a tone of perfect assurance, said : 
“ I have done the AA'hole, sir, in blank verse ; 1 thought it best 
suited to the dignity of the subject.” 

“ Very Avell,” ansAvered Signor Lanzi ; and he began to read 
aloud, Avhile I, AAuth my eyes fixed on the book concealed by 
my desk, read silently every Avord that the professor uttered. 
The prince had not gWen himself the trouble to charge even 
one epithet. I really belie\'e he had copied the very com- 
mas. 

“ Why, Mr. Lorenzo,” said the lecturer, stopping at the end 
of the first page, and turning to me Avith his accustomed smile, 
“ these are rather fine Akerses ; so fine, indeed, that Apollo must 
have inspired you if you have done better.” 

“ Truly I ha\"e no hope of it,” replied I Avith a somev hat 
hypocritical tone of resignation. Signor Lanzi looked at me 
tAvice, to ascertain, I suppose, AA'hat might be the true meaning 
of my ansAver, and then AA^ent on reading. I let him continue 
for some time, alloAV'ing my rh al to drink eagerly the praises 
that shoAA’^ered upon him, and in aa hich I myself joined by sun- 
dry exclamations expressh^e of admiration. Then, taking the 
opportunity of a pause occasioned by a difficulty met Avith in 
making out a AA^ord, I suddenly rose and said, “ If you please, 
sir, I can spare you the trouble of making out the manu- 
script.” 

“ What do you mean 1 ” inquired Signor Lanzi AAuth some 
wonder. 

“ I mean that the Akerses you are taking the trouble of read- 
ing in manuscript are all \-ery clearly printed here,” and hold- 
ing up to AueAv the accusing A’^olume, I began to read aloud the 
continuation of the prince’s composition. The poor boy almost 
fainted. 


THE FKOG BUESTS. 


47 


“Let me see the book,” exclaimed the professor, frowning; 
and having for a moment compared the copy with the original, 
he reddened with indignation, and turning to the prince — 
“ This is indeed an unworthy trick,” cried he, Hinging down 
with contempt the stolen verses ; “ it is a dishonorable cheat 
toward your competitor, sir, and a downright insult to your 
professor !” The prince, trembling and overwhelmed, en- 
deavored, with tears in his eyes, to stammer out some excuse. 
“ Be silent !” thundered Signor Lanzi imperiously. “ The 
case admits of no apology ; you can only aggravate your 
offence !” 

There ensued a pause of a few minutes, during which the 
professor recovered his serenity. “Now,” said he, “ let us see 
Mr. Lorenzo’s production. AYith him we fear no cheating; all 
he does is sterling” — and thereupon he began to read. 

All I can say is, that my poetic medley excited so much 
enthusiasm in the reader and the audience, that more than 
one passage was received with loud applause. A dozen of 
philosophers (so we called the students in the class of philoso- 
phy), whose lecture finished half an hour before the others, 
rushed into our hall, to which the noise had attracted them, 
and requested the favor of being allowed to remain, which 
Signor Lanzi graciously permitted. Nothing was wanting to 
my triumph, had not the sight of the prince, so com'pletely 
overwhelnied, mixed with the joy I felt a strong emotion of 
regret, and almost of remorse. He leaned his head against his 
desk, and strove in vain to stifle the sobs which the convulsive 
hea,vings of his chest made manifest. 

The reading being ended, the professor complimented me in 
the most flattering manner. He declared me the victor, and 
ordered the decurion to transfer to my account the of 

diligence from that of my competitor. At these words the 
prince could bear it no longer; he rose sobbing, and Avent out. 
Much moved, I entreated Signor Lanzi, Avith tears in my eyes, 
to revoke this part of the sentence. “ Far from Avishing,” said 
I, “ for any of the prince’s points of diligence, I Avould Avillingly 
give all my OAvn, not to have caused him so much pain.” The 
professor was touched, and yielded to my request, saying 


48 


LORENZO BENONI. 


kindly, “You obtain a double triumph to-day, for your heart 
is as sound as your head.” 

I will just add here, to return no more to the subject, that 
this day’s victory remained a memorable event in the annals 
of the college ; that in some circles of the town it was proposed 
to have my Death of Philoctetes printed ; and that my friend 
Alfred was within a hair’s breadth of going mad with joy. 


WHO IS TIIK strops’ G 1-:ST ? 


4y 


CHAPTER VI. 

DESCRIBES A BOXING-MATCH, AND A RISE IN PUBLIC PROSPECTS, 
SOON FOLLOWED BY A FALL IN MINE. 

In the afternoon the prince appeared to have quite recov- 
ered from liis late shock, and was in deep confabulation with 
Anastasius, Barilli, and another of his partisans. I had no 
doubt that they were plotting against me, and I expected no 
less, knowing the vindictive character of my adversary. 

On the very same evening, in fact, I was subjected to the 
following provocation. During the half-hour’s recreation which 
follows supper I was sitting on a bench in the schoolroom, and 
chatting quietly with two or three companions. The prince 
began to walk up and down in front of me, his arms crossed 
over his chest, positively shrugging his shoulders, and casting 
looks of defiance at me each time he passed. 

When this dumb show had been repeated three or four times, 
I lost patience. “ What do you w^ant with me now V’ cried I. 
“ I suppose you wish for another chance. All quite fair. You 
may have better luck in Latin verse or prose.” 

“ What do I care for your verse or your prose returned the 
prince contemptuously. “ Do I need that to live by 1 But 
who is the strongest 1 I should like to know that,” added he, 
with the air of a bully. 

We all know how highly schoolboys rate physical strength, 
and its concomitant spirit^ as they call it. Superiority in this 
respect would have counterbalanced any degree of intellectual 
pre-eminence. We both felt conscious of this. 

“ Down with your hand,” exclaimed I, thrusting away with 

3 


50 


LORKNZO BENONI. 


tke back of my right band bis closed fist, wbicb be held up to 
my face. “ I do not know wliicb may be the strongest, but I 
know that I have ten times your spirit.” 

“ Pooh !” cried my antagonist ; “ why, you are frightened 
at this very moment.” 

“ I suppose you want to fight,” returned I, “ if the truth 
were known.” 

“ To be sure I do,” said he. 

“ Ready,” cried I ; “I am your man.” 

Boxing-matches were not rare at school, and had their 
forms, just like duels in the world. Each instantly chose his 
two seconds, who were to settle the hour, the place, and the 
mode of combat, which was to take place next day. My 
seconds were, Alfred, of course, and Frederic ; the prince’s, 
Anastasius and Barilli. 

The following morning, in opposite corners of the play- 
ground, stood two groups of three each, the prince on one 
side, and I on the other, with our respective seconds ; at the 
particular request of whom the rest of the division were dis- 
persed about as usual, to avoid attracting the attention of the 
prefetto. 

Poor Alfred was very busy tying a handkerchief round my 
waist to keep in my breath, and giving me all sorts of advice. 
‘‘Look, Lorenzo,” repeated he over and over again, “just give 
him a good thump here at the bottom of the chest, and you 
will floor him in a minute.’* 

“ Ready !” cried one of the opposite party, and all six 
joined in a group. 

The conditions of combat usual in such cases were now 
clearly laid down by the respective seconds. First, quite 
contrary to the mode of boxing established in England, which 
makes a black eye and a bloody nose the first trophy of 
valor, we were forbidden to strike blows directed to the^head 
or face. Secondly, we were equally forbidden to trip each 
other up. Any other mode either of boxing or wrestling to 
throw each other doAvn, Avas alloAved. Whichever infringed 
these regulations should be declared beaten. The combat 
was to last till one gave in, or till the advantage appeared 


AN AK(;UMENT AD IIOMINEM. 


51 


80 decisively on one side tliat the seconds should interfere 
to stop it. 

We both accepted the conditions, allowed ourselves to be 
respectively searched to see that we had no concealed arms, 
stripped off our coats, and were j^laced at five paces’ distance 
from each other. At the first signal, given by Anastasius and 
Alfred clapping their hands simultaneously, we closed, and the 
whole division rushed to form a ring. 

For some minutes the fight went on briskly enough, without 
any perceptible advantage on either side, when all at once 
the prince thrust his leg between mine, and tripped me up 
completely, so that I fell at full length, dragging him after me 
in my fall. 

“Foul play, foul play !” screamed out Alfred and Frederic, 
“the prince has lost — part them !” 

“No such thing — let them alone!” roared Anastasius and 
his fellow-second. 

I was so thoroughly in the spirit of the fight, that, although 
in my heart enraged at this open breach of faith, I claimed 
nothing, I thought of nothing, but of overcoming my adversary. 
We rolled over each other several times, till at length, seizing 
a favorable chance, I rose on one knee, pinned the prince with 
his forehead to the ground, with my left hand, while with the 
right I set to belaboring his shoulders, calling to him all the 
time to surrender. 

At this critical moment arose a general cry of “ The pre- 
fetto, the prefetto !” and a shower of cuts from a good switch, 
applied by a vigorous arm, fell equally on the prince and my- 
self. This was an irresistible argument, so we both rose of our 
own accord, and thus ended our fight. 

Now came recriminations. Alfred and Frederic in a tower- 
ing passion, declared that I had conquered twice, the first time 
because of the prince having tripped me up, in defiance of 
the established conditions, the second because of the decisive 
advantage I had over my antagonist when the prefetto 
interfered. Anastasius and Ba/’illi as eagerly contended that 
what had happened was not imputable to the prince, being a 
mere accident independent of his will, and that the combat 


52 


LORENZO BENONT. 


being interrupted, no decision could be made at all. The 
prince, who cut rather a sorry figure, his hair and face being 
covered with dust, swore by all the gods that his foot had 
slipped sorely against his will. To put an end to the contes- 
tation, which was going on with useless and increasing bitter 
ness, and not to aggravate the prince’s confusion, which was 
extreme, I apparently admitted his explanation, and a resolution 
was moved by Anastasius, and agreed to by all parties, to the 
effect that, forasmuch as the fght had hcen interrupted^ the 
victory could he awarded to neither, hut that hotli combatants 
had given proof of strength and spirit. This piece of diplomacy 
in no degree altered the general conviction that I had had 
the upper hand. To complete the matter, the prince and I 
had the satisfaction of dining and supping on bread and water 
at the table of repentance. 

It now remains for us to estimate the effect of the events we 
have just related, and for this purpose we shall take up matters 
a week after the day of the boxing match. 

To begin with the most striking and unexpected result : 
strange to say, the prince, from the day of his second defeat, 
became quite an altered being. Good-humored and obliging 
to every one, to me he was henceforth most attentive. In all 
games he betted on my side, or called me in as umpire, and 
without fail it was to me he had recourse for help in every 
difiSculty in his theme or exercise. I was very well disposed 
to give him credit for sincerity in all this, and yet I could not 
but remember his vindictive disposition, and occasionally a 
suspicion of some trick or trap would cross me. I received 
his advances, therefore, with perfect politeness, but with a 
coldness that evidently pained him. 

As to the rest of the division, the bold position I had taken, 
and my two successive victories, had just the influence on their 
minds which I had anticipated. The spirit of the oppressed 
was in some degree roused, and there was altogether a notable 
change for the better. The ordinary exactions went on as 
usual, but there were no more voluntary offerings, no more 
smiles, no more sneaking boAvs. All was silent sullen resig- 
nation, and Avhen Anastasius Avas out of hearing, murmurs 


SIGNS OF THE TIMES. 


53 


“ not loud but deep” ran round the hall, and the eyes of the 
malcontents turned all on me. 

It is unnecessary to add that Alfred and I were indefatiga- 
ble in blowing these embers into a flame. Frederic, ^the boy 
who had been one of my seconds, bad committed himself too 
far at the time of my boxing-match with the prince not to go 
full length with us. It was even through his means that we 
were able to gain over to our projects another of our comrades, 
the strongest in the set, after the two satellites of the tyrant. 
This was a precious acquisition, but cost very dear. First, 
Alfred had to give him a splendid penknife with ten blades, 
of which my friend was very fond, but which he sacrificed 
without hesitation to the great cause. And for my part, I had 
to pledge my word of honor to write the theme of the new 
conspirator for the next distribution of prizes, and so insure 
his getting one. The poor fellow was doubly anxious for this, 
as his grandmother had promised him a gold watch the first 
time he should obtain any honor. 

There were then four of us, and very determined we were ; 
the general disposition of the set was favorable, my friends 
of the first urged me on, and offered their co-operation ; each 
day, nay, each hour, multiplied the chances of Anastasius or 
his friends becoming aware that there was mischief in the 
wind — in short, I felt that now or never was the time, and I 
appointed the day for action. 

The plan formed was this. It was agreed with our friends 
of the first, that the next evening, w'hen ihe whole school 
should be coming out of the refectory after supper, they should 
manage to slacken the pace of their division, while Alfred 
and I would, on the contrary, hasten ours, so that both divis- 
ions should come at the same moment upon the broad and 
dark landing-place at the head of the passage, into which the 
respective school-rooms opened. Our friends of the first there 
leaving their ranks should mingle with ours, crying, “ Down 
with Anastasius, down with the tyrant !’L a cry which Alfred 
and I should answer ; they were, moreover, to tax Anastasius 
with his extortions, which were nothing better than shabby 
robbery, and cry shame upon our division for allowing them- 


64 


LORENZO BENONI. 


selves to be so trampled upon. Suppose oiir auxiliaries, to 
enforce the argument, tliouglit it proper at the same time to 
bustle or collar Anastasius a little, so mucli the better; but 
here tbeir part, and tbe assistance tliey could give, must 
necessarily end, for the prefetti would inevitably interfere, 
and drive away tbe rioters of tbe first division into tbeir 
scbool-room. Tbe rest was for us to do, it was our business to 
strike while tbe iron was bot. 

Tbe day bad come, and we were witbin a few hours of the 
intended execution of our plan. It was four o’clock in tbe 
afternoon (eight was tbe hour fixed on for tbe breaking out of 
our plot) when tbe door of tbe scbool-room creaked upon its 
binges. “ Master Lorenzo, tbe father rettore desires to speak 
with you,” and tbe door closed again. These few words, 
which tbe father ministro let slowly fall, as it were, from bis 
lips, threw me into a state of great perturbation. 

Had our project been discovered 1 — was I to have a lecture 
for my battle with tbe prince ? It was not likely, considering 
bow old tbe affair was. To confess tbe truth, my conscience 
told of so many peccadilloes, that I was bewildered among the 
various conjectures it suggested, and I went in fear and trem- 
bling toward tbe august tribunal. 

Tbe father rettore was a little old man of about seventy 
years of age. His carroty wig, set awry, bis high-boned rosy 
cheeks, a large vein, which marked a thick blue line upon bis 
red nose always crammed Avitb snuff, tended to render bis 
appearance rather ridiculous than imposing. And yet, not- 
withstanding this someAvbat grotesque exterior, never was 
monarch in all bis mightiness more revered by bis subjects 
than was tbe father rettore by the turbulent youth confided 
to bis care ; and this was not owing solely to tbe perfectly 
unlimited extent of bis power. 

Other circumstances concurred to make him an object of 
profound respect, such as an illustrious name and exquisitely- 
polished manners, for which be was indebted to a bigbly- 
aristocratical, nay, princely education, and a reputation for 
immense learning, and for an austerity of life worthy of tbe 
early ages of tbe church. Wonderful tales of tbe penances 


THE FATHER KETTORE. 


55 


and macerations he was said to impose upon himself circulated 
in the college, and* were calculated to strike our young minds, 
open as they were to receive strong impressions from all that 
rose above ordinary life — and to inspire us with deep venera- 
tion for a head which we looked upon as already encircled 
with a halo of saintly glory. 

As just as it was possible to be in his situation, kind and 
humane, although frequently severe upon system, full to the 
brim of a conscientious sense of duty, this austere man com- 
bined in himself, in the highest degree, the virtues and the 
defects of a fervent catholic priest. Unbounded was his de- 
votion to the young flock intrusted to him, for whose eternal 
weal he considered himself individually responsible to God; 
but this sense of responsibility caused him to carry intolerance 
to a pitch of cruelty worthy of a Torquemada, in all cases in 
which he thought — with or without reason — that he saw the 
slightest offence to religion. And such is the power of any 
faith deep and sincere, even when carried to excess, that in 
spite of its effects being often productive of serious evil to us, 
we looked with admiration on the bent priest, who at such 
times, drawing himself up, as if by miracle, to his full height, 
would stand majestic and inexorable, like Moses, when, coming 
down from the mountain, he found the Israelites worshipping 
the golden calf. 

Besides, the father rettore, in order the better to maintain 
the manifold influence he possessed, did not disdain to have 
recourse to certain tactics, which proved his long and deep 
experience of children. A certain degree of mystery sur- 
rounded all his actions, especially the punishments he inflicted. 
It was not uncommon, for instance, that the summons to the 
presence of the father rettore should be followed by the dis- 
appearance of the individual thus summoned. What had be- 
come of him ? Nothing transpired, and it was only on his 
being restored to his companions that it became known that 
he had been, perhaps, in prison. This was the system of 
Venice applied to a college. 

Like those of the oracles of old, so the awards of this 
dreaded monk came from an invisible source ; for the father 


5G 


LORKNZO BKNONI. 


rcttore lived far from the eyes of the profane, and in a myste- 
rious sphere, from which, however, his influence penetrated 
everywhere, and at every moment. His very rare appearance 
in public became an event the more imposing from its always 
occurring unexpectedly. He spoke little, seldom smiled, was 
very sparing of praise, which he ever tempered with some 
•slight reproof, and there was generally something of studied 
severity, I might say of harshness, in his manner ; hut this 
rugged exterior concealed exquisite sensibility, which we had 
more than once discovered. At the bedside of the sick his 
mask would fall off, and the natural man appear : there he let 
forth all the treasures of his gentle kindness. What care, 
what tender anxiety, what soft solicitude ! He would become 
a child again himself, to bring a smile upon the lips of a sick 
child. With what affection he would make himself his nurse, 
watch and comfort him, and humor his little wishes or his 
whims ! 

It was affecting also to see the good old man on a sacrament 
day, his countenance radiant, and shedding tears of tender- 
ness, as he prayed for his beloved children, whom he believed 
to he in a state of grace. These hursts of sensibility, which 
gave an insight into the depths of his soul, did not escape our 
sharp-sighted observation, and mingled with our awe of the 
father rettore the more tender sentiment of almost filial love. 

Such was the man in whose presence I was about to appear. 
My hand trembled as I knocked twice at the door, in accord- 
ance with the usual regulation. “ Come in !” was answered 
from within in a dry tone, and I entered. 


A STORM IS AT HAND. 


57 


CHAPTEE VIL 

THANKS TO A FELLOW-PRISONER, I AM ROUSED FROM UTTER 
DESPAIR TO THE MOST SANGUINE ANTICIPATIONS. 

The arm-chair in which the father rettore was seated in 
a state of perfect immobility, was placed against the side of the 
wall in which the door opened, so that in entering the eye 
caught only his profile. I hardly dared to cast a look that 
way, as I cautiously advanced to place myself on his right 
hand, where I remained standing. He did not turn his head, 
or make the slightest gesture indicative of his having become 
aware of my presence ; but, on my endeavoring to take his 
hand, which leaned upon his knee, in order to kiss it according 
to custom, he drew it back sharply. 

There ensued a minute of awful silence, during which I 
could distinctly hear the rapid heating of my heart, and the 
buzzing sound of the flies’ wings rustling among the papers 
that lay in confused heaps on the table. Presently the father 
rettore seemed to awake, and slowly opened a drawer, whence 
he drew forth a printed volume, which he placed before me, 
pointing with his forefinger to the title, so as to fix my attention 
upon it. I read — Index Lihrorum 'proMhitorum a Smnmo 
^ontijice'^ etc. — “ Catalogue of the Books prohibited by the 
Sovereign Pontiff” etc. Having left me more than time to 
read and weigh these words, he withdrew the hook, turned 
over the leaves, as if seeking some particular passage, and 
then presented it to me again. This time the inexorable 
finger pointed to the words, “ Milton's Paradise Lost.” I felt 
annihilated. I wished myself a thousand feet under ground 
to hide my confusion. 


3 * 


58 


LOEENZO BENONI. 


Alas ! a few days before, wlien at home for a liolyday, I bad 
taken from my father’s library the first volume of the Paradise 
Lost, translated into Italian, which I had carefully hidden in 
my desk, whence the prefetto, no doubt, or some of the prying 
superiors, had ferreted it out ; and in fact, on raising my eyes, 
I saw the accusing volume on the table. I was found guilty 
of the greatest crime which could be committed at college ! ’ 

At length the storm which the aw^ful silence portended 
burst upon my head. “ So, sir ! could I have expected this 
from you ? Is this the return you make for the care and 
kindness shown you by your superiors 1 Is it to rush headlong 
into impiety that you use the talents which it has pleased 
God to lavish upon you ? To him you are accountable for 
your time, and you spend it in reading impious books, in 
spreading the poison of heresy among your young companions, 
— you, who owe them, on the contrary, an edifying example ! 
Why, Biscozza is an angel compared to you.” (Biscozza was 
notoriously the most wicked boy in the school.) “ What are 
his childish tricks, compared to impiety ? Do you know, that 
by the mere fact of having read that book, you are in a 
state of mortal sin? Do you know that, were it to please God 
to strike you dead at this moment (may his divine mercy 
give you time to repent), you would go to eternal perdition ? 
Can you think of this without shuddering, sir, or have you 
already reached that height of modern philosophy which 
denies the infallibility of the vicar of Christ, or even Christ 
himself ?” 

There was in the tone in which these last words were 
uttered such a thrill of bitterness, and yet of sadness, that I 
felt completely overconre. The father rettore’s hands were 
agitated by convulsive motions to such a degree, that I ven- 
tured to raise my eyes toward him, from the fear that he was 
going to faint away. I saw a big tear drop upon his cheek, 
then stop, then roll farther, and fall upon his gown. 

Evidently exhausted by this passionate discourse, which he 
had pronounced with the greatest volubility and ever-increasing 
animation, the father leaned his elbow upon the table, and his 
head upon his hand. At the end of a few minutes he changed 


IMilSoN I.OOMS. 


59 


his posture, and began talking to himself with vehement 
gestures. An indifferent spectator might perhaps have smiled 
at seeing the right hand (still pertinaciously holding between 
finger and thumb a pinch of snuff, which the good rettore never 
abandoned on any occasion) suspended in air, and awkwardly 
cutting little circles in its progress downward ; but, as may 
well be supposed, I was very far from feeling any inclination 
to laugh. The monologue, of which I could merely catch 
here and there a word, such as “ duty,” “ weakness,” “ eternal 
salvation,” “his mother,” ended by a violent pull at the bell. 
A lay brother entered. “ Send me the porter,” said the father, 
“ and tell him to bring the keys of the prisons.” (The porter 
held also the office of jailer.) This conclusion came as a relief 
to me. To such a degree did I suffer in the presence of my 
terrible judge, justly incensed against me, that to escape from 
it I could almost have thrown myself into the fire. A heavy 
step and a clanking of keys announced the porter. The father 
rettore made him a sign, and dismissed me with a dry “Go !” 
I kissed his hand, which this time he did not withdraw, and 
followed my silent jailer. 

The prison in which I was confined was really miserable. 
Imagine a small cell, low and damp, receiving no light but 
from the narrow slit of a grated, unglazed window, placed 
so high that it was necessary to clamber up to it in order to 
catch a glimpse of sky about the size of a pocket-handkerchief. 
All other sight was shut out by a great wall, that rose at a very 
short distance exactly opposite, at least six feet above the slit 
window. The only furniture this comfortless room contained 
was one straw chair, a small deal table, and four planks, laid 
upon iron tressels, and supporting a wretched straw mattress. 
Such was my new abode. I had no communication whatever 
with the external world, neither books, paper, nor light, bread 
and water for my only food, and abundance of mice rioting 
on the floor, and mounting sometimes even on the bed. Add 
to this a biting north wind rushing all night through the rotten 
old shutters that most ineffectually closed before the window, 
and you will have a complete inventory of the comforts that 
awaited the poor prisoner. 


60 


LORENZO BENONT. 


I threw myself on my miserable straw bed in a state of great 
depression. Tbe scene vvbicb I bad just bad with tbe father 
rettore bad made too strong an impression upon me, not to 
lead to serious and alarming reflections. So, then, I was 
really very guilty, so much so that I deserved eternal flames ! 
My reason revolted against this too terrible award. What 
was there so very Avicked in that book 1 Nothing, it appeared 
to me. Yet, tbe pope bad judged it to be very dangerous, 
since be bad forbidden tbe reading of it. Was 1 really come 
to tbe pitch of denying tbe infallibility of tbe pope? — was it 
because I bad become an impious heretic, a hardened sinner, 
that I could not work myself up to repentance ? Make Avbat 
efforts I would, however, I could not bring myself to it. And 
'then, Avben I must tell all this to tbe confessor! — I shall cer- 
tainly die of shame ! — No doubt, be Avill refuse me absolution 
— and then, what will my superiors think of me? — Avbat Avill 
my companions say Avben they see that I do not take tbe 
sacrament along with them ? 

Insensibly, however, my thoughts took another direction, 
and went back to the all-absorbing interests I bad left behind 
me. What will become of our plans ? Will my associates 
risk tbe great stroke without me ? Certainly not. Alfred, 
of course, by this time has warned our friends of tbe first not 
to stir. But, suppose be should be prevented? — suppose 
tbe prefetto, as is often tbe case, should allow nobody to go 
out, on any plea whatever ? What if they Avere to try, and 
fail I 

Tbe contention of spirit arising from these A^arious imagin- 
ings soon rendered bodily inaction insupportable. I jumped 
off tbe mattress, and by means of my table, on Avbicb I placed 
my chair, I scrambled up to the slit of a windoAA", but, Avearied 
Avitb contemplating tbe sky, I soon left my observatory, and 
came down again. Innumerable inscriptions coA^ered tbe 
Avails of my dungeon, and, hoping to find some relief in tbe 
occupation I set myself to make them out. There Avere some 
of all sorts — serious thoughts, comic thoughts — some rebel- 
lious, some resigned, some cowardly, some heroic ; and, in spite 
of the absent mind with which I read, there were a few that 


PRISON IXSCPJPTIONS FRENZY. 61 

struck me. “ Qiiicquid Inrpunc faccrc^ Vaircm, ^omasclium 
esse'’’ (To do everytliiiig ^vitll impunity, this is to be a Father 
Somasco.) This parody of a famous sentence of Tacitus, 
written in huge letters, was signed with blood “ Sforza.” Great 
was my surprise at seeing such a name take the responsibility 
of so bold a sentiment. Sforza, one of the first division, was 
looked upon as a perfect nonentity, and was not even initiated 
into our revolutionary projects. In another place, there was 
written at full length, the touching history of a young captive, 
who had endured fifteen long days of confinement rather than 
reveal the name of an accomplice. This unfortunate martyr 
to honor had marked his sufferings day by day on the walls 
of his prison, his only tablets, in a simple and pathetic lament, 
in rhymed stanzas, ending each by this burthen, “ Better in 
prison die than live to be a spy.” Further on, an almost im- 
perceptible “ Death to Anastasius !” made me smile bitterly. 
Hidden in a corner, and written in microscopic letters, it suffi- 
ciently attested the pusillanimity of the writer. 

Here ended my review of these inscriptions. Although the 
days were long, for it was in April, and there remained a good 
hour of light elsewhere, dusk was already gathering so fast in 
my hole that I could see to read no longer ; so that my own 
irritating thoughts again took full possession of me. As the 
shades thickened around me, and the appointed hout ap- 
proached, my anxiety became more intense, and my steps more 
and more rapid. I believe I. must have been feverish. 

All at once a bell rang — it was the call to the refectory. 
In half an hour the blow will be struck — and I shall not bo 
there. I bit my hands with rage, and beat the mattress, the 
walls, and my own burning forehead with my clenched fist ; 
hut presently it was far worse. Hark — the bell rings again 
— a convulsive shivering came over me, my whole soul seemed 
gathered in my ears, as I laid them close against the door — 
Now is the moment — first came an indistinct sound, then 
more clear — cries, trampling — a pause — the cries, the tramp- 
ling re-commence — it is certain, they are fighting — what 
agony ! “ Help, Lorenzo, help !” This cry, which I fancied 

I distinctly heard, completely overset my already troubled 


62 


LORENZO BENONI. 


brain. I became literally frantic ; I flew to the bars of the 
window, and shook them with redoubled strength ; I tore my 
hands in vainly trying to force the lock of the door. Every 
attempt only proved my utter helplessness, and made me roar 
like a wild beast. Had I possessed the means I should 
certainly have set fire to the prison. Had I possessed a weap- 
on I do not know what mischief I might not have done. At 
last, weary and bruised, I threw myself upon my mattress, and 
there lay, heaving, panting, exhausted to such a degree that 
I hoped I was dying. My eyes closed, as I thought, never 
again to open. 

A voice calling me by my name awoke me with a start, for 
the torpor which I hailed as the harbinger of death had re- 
solved itself into a good sound sleep, which came to repair my 
sinking strength and spirits. I was quite surprised to find 
myself not only alive, but with my head cool, and my thoughts 
clear ; I felt rather frightened, however, at the profound silence 
and darkness that surrounded me. I already began to attrib- 
ute to a dream the voice I imagined I had heard, when I was 
again distinctly called. It was the voice of the prince. In 
one instant I was off the mattress, and fumbling in the dark, 
had set my chair and table so as to scramble up to the window 
like a squirrel. “ Where the deuce are you V ' — “ Why, here 
in piison, close to your cell.” I have forgotten to say that on 
the left of the room in which I was shut up, and on the same 
line, extended a set of cells destined for the same purpose. 
“ Anything new in the division asked I eagerly. “ Nothing 
at all,” answered the prince. Relieved at once by these few 
words from a whole world of anxiety, I fell to asking him 
questions, and making the best of the chance that had given 
me a fellow-sufferer, in order to while away time. 

“ Did you know that I was in prison, that you called me ?” 

“To be sure I did. I suspected as much when I did not see 
you return, and in order to be quite certain I questioned the 
porter, who ended by owning the truth.” 

“ And why have they put you in also 1 and so late too ?” 

“ Because, as we were going to the dormitory, I told the 
prefetto that he was an ass.” 


A FELLOW-SUFFERER. 


63 


“ Upon my word, if you have no worse lie on your con- 
science, I give you full absolution ; but bow came you to say so 

“ Ob ! for nothing at all The prefetto reported me to the 
vice-rettore, who desired me to . beg pardon, which I did, 
after the following fashion, ‘ Mister Prefetto, I beg your par- 
don for having said you were only an ass, for certainly you are 
both an ass and a clown.’ ” 

‘‘ That was a comical idea, upon my word. One night, 
however, is soon passed, and to-morrow you will be free, for 
this is not a place for princes.” 

The slight irony of my tone seemed to annoy my companion 
very sensibly, and he answered in a voice of much emotion — 

‘‘ Always prince ! is it my fault that I was born one ? I 
wish I were a common laborer, and then perhaps you would 
not have such a spite against me.” 

“ I protest I have no spite against you ; you lay too much 
stress upon a mere joke,” returned I, moved in my turn by the 
ingenuousness of his words, and still more by the tone in which 
they were uttered. 

“Oh! yes, you do hate me; I may have deserved it for- 
merly ; I was wrong, I know I was : but now, when I do 
everything I can think of to make amends, it is really cruel 
of you to treat me with such disdain, and such suspicion.” 

“ I do assure you, you attribute to me feelings which I do 
not at all possess. If formerly ” 

“ I am not speaking of formerly,” interrupted the prince, 
“ I am speaking of now, of this very moment, when I am 
talking to you. Can you say that you do not distrust me ? 
I>o you think I am blind ? do you think I do not know what 
is going on ? that was the very day fixed on for action ? but I 
am distrusted, I am treated like a coward or a spy.” 

"Wonder kept me silent. How could he be so well in- 
formed ? 

“And yet,” continued the prince, bursting into tears, “I 
am neither the one nor the other. Nobody hates Anastasius 
more than I do ; and nobody, perhaps, if only a little confi- 
dence were placed in me, could give better help in putting him 
down.” 


64 


LORENZO BENONI. 


I considered a minute, and tlien, “Look you,” said I, in a 
grave and solemn tone, “ I do not consider you a coward or a 
spy ; indeed, I don’t. If I have not shown you more confi- 
dence, it has not been from Avant of will, hut that others Avere 
concerned. Tell me only that I may, and I will belieA'e you 
upon your word.” 

“ If you may !” answered the prince ; “ why, do you know 
from Avliat motive I got myself put into prison ?” 

“ 0-ot yourself put in ?” 

“Yes, got myself put in prison deliberately, on purpose, 
without any provocation. Do you knoAV Avhy 1 that I might 
have an opportunity of opening my heart to you, of trying to 
deserve your confidence, of proving to you that I am not un- 
worthy of it.” ■ 

Astonishment, emotion, admiration, kept me dumb once 
more. 

“ And mark,” continued my interlocutor, “ if to-morrow 
they come to let me out, without doing the same for you, if 
I don’t refuse to stir out of my cell, even if I were to die in 
prison.” 

School conspirators are of a kindly spirit, and at that happy 
age of frankness and enthusiasm no one guards against traps 
and pit-falls, which Avould argue a baseness and peiwersity of 
nature, the possible existence of AAdiich is not eA^en suspected. 
It is only later, alas ! and in real life, that one learns to dis- 
trust unknown felloAv-prisoners, Avdiose business it may be to 
inspire Avith confidence, by a supposed similarity of suffering 
and danger, and then to take advantage of moments of out- 
pouring of the heart, to send one to the scaffold. Chfilization 
at school Avas not so far advanced, and secret instigators and 
pumpers, pretended felloAA^-sufferers, prison-confidants, and such 
like wonderful iuA’^entions of the modern art of gOA^erning, Avere 
things and names equally unknoAvn Avith us. So that, far 
from suspecting a latent snare in these decided OA^ertures of 
the prince, and overcome, moreoA^er, by a trait of heroism 
Avhich raised him immensely in my eyes, I felt my old grudge 
melt aAvay under the Avarmth of his accents, and my heart 
open to the most entire confidence. 


A Ci'NSPIRACY. 


65 


Perfect intimacy sprang np between ns from that moment, 
and after some preliminary soothing explanations, I laid before 
the prince the whole of onr plans, onr resources, and views, 
while he in his turn detailed to me the means upon which lie 
could depend, and which he put at my disposal. These means 
were his own personal co-operation and that of Barilli and 
another of his friends, of whom he was as sure as of himself. 
This brought our number to seven. A physical force so 
respectable, supported by the influence of our names thrown 
into the scale, was more than sufficient to crush the tyrant. 
Consequently we agreed to do without our allies in the first, 
and to achieve our own revolution unassisted — a national 
revolution. We determined also to come to action, as soon as 
we should he restored to our division, only leaving time for the 
prince to inform his friends of the matter. 

Just as we were on the point of separating, after several 
hours’ conversation, a feeling of distrust came into my mind. 
“ One word more,” said I, laying a meaning stress on each 
syllable, “ to bring down the tyrant is not all, we must crush 
tyranny itself, and render its return impossible, and this can 
only he done by constituting Liberty.” I think I had found 
the phrase in Tacitus. 

“ With all my heart,” returned the prince, yawning, “ only 
I confess I do not know how to set about it. Manage things for 
the best yourself ; I have an unlimited confidence in your wis- 
dom as in your intentions j* and I will back you in everything, 
blindfold, and always.” 

“ What do you think of a republican government ?” insisted 
I. “ Sparta, Athens, and Pome, owed to that their brightest 
days of glory and prosperity.” 

“ I think that whatever you do will be well done, and that is 
all I think about it ; but really I feel very cold — good night ?” 

“ Good night.” 

Flattered, on the one hand, by the absolute confidence of 
the prince, but deploring, on the other, his utter want of gen- 
eral principle, I went and lay down on my bed. “After all,” 
thought I, “ Pome was not built in a day ;” and thereupon I fell 
asleep. 


66 


LORENZO BENONI. 


CHAPTER YIII. 

EXPLOSION A LESSON TO TYRANTS. 

Next morning about ten o’clock an order came from high 
quarters for the prince’s liberation and my own. My return 
to the division was a real triumph. As I have already said, 
I was very popular among my companions, on account of my 
readiness to help them whenever there was a difficult task to 
be done, and therefore, if only in this respect, my absence be- 
came a sort of general calamity ; but on this occasion the dis- 
contented — and they were numerous, who felt instinctively 
that I was their leader, were of course glad to see me once 
more among them. On every side came congratulations, and 
warm shaking of hands, which I was not slow to return. 

As for Alfred and Frederic, they received me with tears in 
their eyes, and marks of veneration which I was at a loss to 
understand. Having attributed my disappearance to the dis- 
covery of our plans, they had looked upon me as nothing less 
than a martyr to liberty. I undeceived them in a few words, 
and told them to hold themselves in readiness at a moment’s 
warning; but for further explanations, I put them off till the 
play-hour after dinner. 

At that hour, Alfred, the prince, and I, met in council, and 
the following morning was unanimously fixed upon for action. 
It was also agreed that each of the conspirators should receive 
gratis at breakfast (we three clubbed all our savings toward 
this patriotic expense) some of the choicest delicacies the town 
could aff*ord. The greediness of Anastasius would infallil)ly 
be excited on seeing so many good things, a portion of which 
he would, of course, adjudge to himself. Here the opposition 


PLAN OF ATfACK. 


67 


was to begin. He among the conspirators to whom Anasta- 
sius sbould first address himself, w as to protest, and resist to 
the utmost. All were to engage on oath to do so. This pro- 
cedure could bring no real danger to him on whom the lot 
might fall, since the prince, Alfred, and I, -would be near, and 
would at once interpose. Above all things indispensable, were 
calmness and avoidance of untimely demonstrations. The 
conspirators were to await a signal from me to show them- 
selves, and have recourse to force if necessary, at the cry of 

Down with the tyrant Having thus concerted all our meas- 
ures, we separated. Alfred and the prince went to carry these 
instructions to the rest of our friends, while I remained alone, 
thinking of the morrow, and pacing slowly up and down the 
playground in the mood of Caesar when about to cast the die 
for the world at Pharsalia. 

Motives of deep policy had determined me to fix the hour 
of breakfast for striking the grand blow. In the first place, 
I had calculated that at that moment, when the property of 
all was in danger, we should find a powerful auxiliary in the 
selfishness of each individual threatened in his goods. Sad 
necessity this, common to all conspirators, even to those at 
school, of having to seek their resting-point far more in the 
material interests of the multitude than in the noble conscious- 
ness of right ! Secondly, as the prefetti were in the habit at 
that hour of quitting their respective halls, without entirely 
losing sight of them, and of walking up and down the wide 
lobby into which the doors opened, I had settled in my mind 
to take advantage of the momentary absence of our prefetto, 
to carry through our affair without the fear of an untimely in- 
terruption on his part. 

The critical moment drew near. It was a dark, rainy morn- 
ing, and the aspect of our division assorted very well with 
that of the heavens. The severe and careworn faces of the 
conspirators, bespeaking- a sleepless night and deep anxiety, 
wore an expression almost awful ; and either from the influ- 
ence of the atmosphere, or from the dismal glare of the lamps, 
mixed with the doubtful light of day, even the countenances 
of those who were not in the secret looked more grave and 


68 


LORENZO BENONI. 


tlioiiglitfiil than usual. The sound of the rain pelting against 
the windows, alone broke the silence which, contrary to cus- 
tom, was religiously observed. 

At last the decisive hour struck. I cast one glance around 
upon my faithful band, answered by a responding look from 
each, which said that he was ready, and that I might rely 
upon him. 

In less than a minute the great basket which contained our 
breakfast was em.ptied, and each, carrying away his portion, 
returned to his desk. The prefetto went out of the hall. Anas- 
tasius, rubbing his hands with delight, began his rounds. His 
covetous gaze was riveted upon the wonders spread out before 
his eyes, such as apples, pears, oranges, dates, almonds, and 
raisins, Bologna sausage, tablets of chocolate, butter, &c., &c., 
and lie seemed only to hesitate from the difficulty of ma- 
king a decisive choice. The two satellites were, as usual, at 
his heels. “ How now !” cried he, with a horse-laugh, “ has 
one of you gained a prize in the lottery, that you feast in this 
way? Well,” continued he, stopping before the desk of one 
of our band, “here are two oranges, such as I have hardly 
tasted in all my life. How, they do tempt me ; but as I am a 
good fellow, we will share them between us, like good friends.” 

“ I am very sorry,” answered the owner of the oranges, 
true to his word, “but you shall not taste these.” — “Are you 
mad?” returned Anastasius, “or do you want a little lesson?” 
And so saying, he dexterously got hold of one of the disputed 
oranges, which the other boy endeavored in vain to cover with 
his hands and elbows. The despoiled one protested loudly ; 
it was time to interpose. I went straight up to Anastasius, 
followed by Alfred and the prince, who managed adroitly to 
put themselves between him and his satellites, so as to isolate 
him. My heart beat thick. 

“ What do you me>an by this violence ?” said I ; “by what 
right do you rob Francis of his property ?” The tyrant turned 
pale. “ Is that any business of yours ?” returned he, after 
some hesitation. “ Certainly it is,” replied I, “.and I insist 
upon knowing by what right you take his orange from him.” 
My persistance and my look of determination evidently intim- 


THE TYRANT IS CRUSHED. 


69 


idated Anastasilis, who stood speechless. “You take it by the 
right of force, eh V’ continued I in a tone of quoiisque tandem 
abutere, Catilina, “ hut we will see if you are the strongest, 
sir ! Do you think that we Avill endure for ever your abomin- 
able violence ? Is such your intention, gentlemen (addres- 
sing the public). Some energetic “ No, noes,” were heard 
here and there. “ As for me,” cried I, raising my right hand, 
“ I declare I muU bear it no longer, and I say, ‘ Down with the 
tyrant !’ ” 

“Down with the tyrant !” roared six voices, with the precis- 
ion of a volley of musketry. 

“ Down with the tyrant !” echoed almost unanimously the 
rest of the division, electrified by the example of the six. 

“ Have done with this uproar !” grumbled the voice of the 
prefetto, appearing suddenly at the door ; but deceived by the 
apparent calm of the division, he turned away instantly. 

The tyrant, who had seemed overwhelmed by this outbreak 
among his subjects, gathered some courage during the short 
appearance of the prefetto. “ What is the meaning of this 
comedy ?” asked he, with trembling lips and blanched cheek. 

“ Take care,” returned I, “ that the comedy does not become 
a tragedy. Give Francis back his orange, I say !” 

“ I will give back nothing.” 

“By Jove! we will find a way to force you, though,” an- 
swered I, exasperated ; and, suiting the action to the words, I 
threw myself upon Anastasius, closely followed by Alfred and 
the prince. This w'as the signal for a frightful scuttle. The 
whole division, like one man, fell upon Anastasius each, seek- 
ing to strike the hardest blow. “ Help, Peter I helj), John 1” 
cried the tyrant in stifled accents. Peter and John, who per- 
ceived which way the wind set, like true acolytes of tyranny, 
deserted to the enemy. To the repeated calls of Anastasius, 
they answered with a laugh, “ Here we are! here we are!” 
and coming up with their bunch of cords, began to lay them 
thick upon the back of their former master. 

This desertion completely annihilated Anastasius. The re- 
sistance which he had till then kept up against our attacks, 
gave way to the most complete submission. On his knees, 


70 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


with clasped hands, with floods of tears, he entreated mercy, 
he supplicated that his life might he spared ; and it was not 
without immense difficulty that, uniting our efforts, Alfred, the 
prince, and I, succeeded in putting an end to a scene ecjually 
disgusting, on the one hand, by the low cowardice of the van- 
quished, lately so insolent, and on the other by the merciless 
fury of those slaves of an hour ago, sixteen against one. It 
must be allowed, however, that the slaves had suffered long 
and cruelly. 

All this had happened in a shorter time than it has taken 
to relate; so that when the prefetto, passing again before the 
door, cast a glance into our hall, the division had resumed its 
habitual appearance of order. Anastasius was sitting in his 
place, leaning his head against his desk, and sobbing ; but his 
depression and his tears, far from awaking any compassion in 
the breasts of the revolted, only gave rise to the most bitter 
jests and gibes. “I do believe he is crying,” says one. 
“Oh !” returns another, “ it is all make-believe, unless indeed 
he is crying for the orange.” — “ I’ll tell you what it is,” says 
a third, “ the orange was not ripe, and has set his teeth on 
edge.” — “Will your majesty please to accept this humble of- 
fering?” says a fourth, with mock humility, kneeling on one 
knee, and then suddenly swallowing, amid the applause of the 
spectators, the slice of Bologna sausage he had just held under 
the nose of Anastasius. 

From other quarters came threats, insults, and bitter recrim- 
inations. “ Cry away, monster, who made so many cry. What 
pity had you for me, when you had me flogged so cruelly ?” — 
“ Where is the horse-laugh with which you answered the cries 
of your victims?” — “Oh, my good friend,” exclaims another, 
“ we have a little account to settle. Where is the penknife 
you stole from me?” — “Where is my new ball ?” — “Where 
is my bottle of rosolio — “ Where is,” Ac. And thus a dozen 
voices succeeded each other with the rapidity of the blows of 
a hammer on the anvil. “ I say,” shouted the first, “ what is 
to hinder us from taking back our property?” — “ Quite just !” 
repeated the rest ; and in one moment the whole crowd of 
claimants rushed toward the desk of Anastasius, who had just 


RIGHT BECOMES WRONG. 


n 


time to escape. True to my office of moderator, I strove to 
prevent this riotous outbreak, and, failing in this, to give it at 
least the character and the form of a regular vindication of 
property. My exhortations and my prayers were swept away 
by the over-boiling passions of the tumultuous throng, thirsting 
for vengeance. On the instant, the threatened desk was bro- 
ken open, and not only were the claimed articles taken out, 
but all that belonged to Anastasius — books, peivs, papers, &c. 
— were torn to pieces, and trampled upon. What could not 
be torn was flung out of the window. 

I mourned in silence over these acts of vandalism, and I 
learned for the first time, to my great mortification, that it is 
easier to excite popular tempests, than to arrest them in their 
course when once let loose. What I felt at this moment has 
more than once recurred to my mind in after-life, while read- 
ing the histories of revolutions, and has given me the key to 
many a seeming contradiction and change, of which the lives 
of public men offer such frequent examples in revolutionary 
times. Alas ! that we should ever find the abuse close upon 
the exercise of a right — license treading on the heels of lib- 
erty — evil by the side of good ; but such is mankind. 

W^hen the bell rang that summoned us to church, I drew a 
long breath, and felt relieved. Anastasius would have a mo- 
ment’s respite at last ; but I was mistaken. A neAv and worse 
torture was about to commence. We were no sooner on the 
staircase, than the terrible word was passed from the first to 
the last of the column, “Vinegar* of Anastasius!” To make 
vinegar of one, in school language, meant to shut him into a 
compact circle of boys, who pushed him, one from another, like 
a ball ; or to shove the victim against a wall, and fall upon 
him in a mass, at the risk of producing suffocation. This last 
mode was decided on. Anastasius did not articulate a word — 
not a single groan escaped him during this new infliction, 
which, thanks to the prefetto’s immediate interference, did not 

* After the juice of the grnpe has been pressed out to make wine, the 
remains of tlie fruit, fermented in a small quantity of water, are submitted 
to a much higher degree of pressure to express the moisture, of which vine- 
gar is made. The application of the comparison is obvious. 


72 


LORENZO BFNONI. 


last an instant ; but lie must have suffered cruelly. His face 
was convulsed, his lips were white, and he tottered like a 
drunken man. His misdeeds were certainly great, but his ex- 
piation was truly awful. As, during the remainder of the tale 
of our school-days, we shall have no occasion to bring Anasta- 
sius again before the reader, we shall here shortly state what 
became of this unfortunately famous personage. 

For five successive days was he subjected to a constant repe- 
tition of the insults and tortures we have just described. All 
contact with him Avas avoided, as with one infected by the 
plague, except at those moments when he was to be martyr- 
ized. Those whose places were near him in the schoolroom, 
in the refectory, and even in the dormitory, left them, and 
when we went out to walk his only refuge ivas by the side of 
the prefetto. Nobody would allow himself to be sullied by 
the proximity of the pariaJi. During the play-hours he was 
exiled far from all human converse, either in one corner of the 
play-ground, or at his own desk in the schoolroom. Wo to 
him if he attempted to pass the line of demarkation, and to 
mix with his schoolfellows ! There was, however, between 
them and him one sort of communication — that between mas- 
ter and slave ; for Anastasius was become the helot of the 
division, and every one had a right to order him about. 
“Anastasius, go fetch me my tambourine” — Anastasius, wa- 
ter my garden” — “do this, do that;” and he might reckon 
himself lucky when it was not thought necessary to stimulate 
his acthdty by blows. 

This, in our own division. Without, Avhenever there was 
momentary contact between the different sets, Anastasius was 
pointed at, scoffed at, insulted, and ill-treated by great and 
little, for even these last, emboldened by his abject state, would 
give him him a passing cut with a cord. At the end of these 
five days the boy Avas really scarcely recognisable; youAvould 
liaA^e said, to see him so deadly pale and so thin, that he Avas 
just recovering from a six months’ illness ; and yet no one felt 
the least pity for him, no one among the hundred boys except 
Alfred and myself. 

The superiors, of course, had taken his part, but in vain. 


EXPIATION. 


73 


Punishments inflicted upon some of the most riotous only 
served to irritate the rest. In short, things came to such a pass, 
that one day — it was the fifth after his fall — in consequence 
of a terrible vinegar from the first and second divisions com- 
bined, the superiors saw it necessary to pretend to send him to 
prison, in order to save him from the popular effervescence. 
It was to the infirmary he was sent instead, where he remained 
two days confined to his bed, after which the father rettore 
begged his parents to come and fetch him, and keep him at 
home till the excitement against him in the school should have 
somewhat subsided. It was not till a month afterward that 
Anastasius reappeared, but quantum mutatus ah illo Hectore ! 
Pale, trembling, his eyes bent on the ground, he advanced into 
the middle of the schoolroom, where we were all assembled, 
and where his father and mother, who stood on each side of 
him, with tears in their eyes, asked pardon for him, of each 
and all of us, and entreated the whole division to show him 
some indulgence, in respect of his sincere repentance. 

Through such a succession of suffering and humiliation it 
was, that Anastasius the proud, Anastasius the tyrant, had to 
pass ! May his example he at least a useful lesson to future 
school tyrants ! 


4 


74 


LORENZO BENONT. 


OHAPTEE IX. 

A REPUBLICAN GOVERNMENT ESTABLISHED, AND A ROMAN TRIUMPH 
EXHIBITED. 

It will no doubt be remembered that the overthrow of 
tyranny was but one half of the task which I had set myself, 
and was in fact looked upon by me only as a means of attaining 
a far greater and more desirable end — the settlement of liberty 
on a broad and solid basis. I am not sure that I had a very 
clear idea of what this might mean; but these were fine 
sounding words, and lads of thirteen are apt to fall in love with 
words, and take them for things, which, as everybody knows, 
grown-up men never do. 

Even if this idea had not been long my darling dream, the 
frightful anarchy into which our division had been plunged, 
ever since the fall of Anastasius, would have been sufficient 
to awaken me to the necessity of some rule being laid down, 
and strictly observed. This, and this alone, in my opinion, 
could secure freedom, and guard our little community from 
the tyranny of many, or of one. For, even on this score, I 
confess I was not without my fears ; and the immense popu- 
larity the prince had acquired by the important part he had 
played in our glorious revolution, combined with what I knew 
of him formerly, made me a little uneasy. It is but fair to add 
at once that in this I was completely mistaken, and that if the 
prince endangered public affairs, which he certainly did now 
and then, it was not through any views of personal ambition, 
but rather from mistaken zeal for the interests of liberty, which 
he was ever fancying in peril. 

The very day, then, following the departure of Anastasius, 


REPUBLICAN EDUCATION. 


75 


having first agreed upon the plan with the prince and Alfred, 
I assembled the whole division, and laid my ideas succinctly 
before them ; that is to say, the expediency, nay, the necessity 
of some fundamental law approved by all, and the establish- 
ment of a magistracy charged to see to tlie execution, and to 
the due respect of that law. ]\[y overtures were very favorably 
received, and when I threw out as a hint the words repyhlir, 
and consular authority^ general and very marked assent fol- 
lowed. Emboldened by this first success, “ let those,” cried 
I, “ who are for a republic, hold up their hands.” All hands 
were raised as by common accord, there was not one dissenting 
voice ; and, upon a proposal from the prince, I was charged 
on the spot with the drawing up of the plan of a constitution, 
to be presented in the shortest possible time for the acceptance 
of the nation. 

Strange, but true. Public education in Piedmont — the part 
of all Italy, perhaps, most despotically governed at that time 
— was entirely republican. The history of Greece and Rome, 
the only thing taught us with any care at school, was in truth, 
according to the light in wdiich it was placed, little else than 
a constant libel upon monarchy, and a panegyric upon the 
democratic form of government. The decline of Athens and 
of Sparta, happy and flourishing so long as they remained 
republics, dated from the day which gave power into a single 
hand, Rome dated her greatness and power from the moment 
she expelled the Tarquins, and the great republic which had 
conquered the world, faded under the hands of the Csesars, 
failed to defend its conquests, allowed inroads, and at last 
vanished. Our indignation against tyrants, and our enthu- 
siasm even for their assassins, seemed to be purposely excited. 
The subjects given us for our themes in the classes were ever 
in this range of ideas. Sometimes we were to hurl the thunder 
of our Latin eloquence upon Caesar about to pass the Rubicon ; 
and to prove, in an oration in three parts, with exordium and 
peroration, that it was the act of an unnatural son to smother 
the republic his mother. At others, Brutus, both the elder and 
the younger, Mutius Scaevola, Cato, etc., Avere to be deified in 
poetry. Thus, from our most tender years we were inspired 


LORENZO BENONI. 


76 

with ideas and feelings quite opposed to those we ought to 
have brought into real life, and with a blind enthusiasm for 
actions and virtues, the imitation of which would be condemned 
and punished as a crime by the society in which we were to 
live. Now, was this not absurd 1 was it not wantonly sowing 
danger to be reaped in after-life 'I 

Elevated to giant height in my own estimation by the part 
of Lycurgus, with which my companions had intrusted me, 
and full of the deep responsibility of my task, I set to it in 
earnestj and it was not before a whole day and night of solemn 
meditation that I definitively settled my ideas ; and then an 
hour sufficed to lay upon paper a constitution, in eighteen 
articles, which I confess I thought a masterpiece. This 
masterpiece is lost — alas! irretrievably lost — at least the 
chief part of it. The infinite pains I have taken to find a 
copy have proved fruitless. The loss is the more painful to 
me, as, in our own times so many constitutions have been 
strung together — sworn one day, and forsworn and destroyed 
the next, then taken up again, to be again laid aside. Seeing 
all these various essays and attempts, I sometimes ask myself 
whether, perchance, mine was not that phoenix of a consti- 
tution, which people and governments have all been so long 
hunting after in vain ? At any rate the comparison between 
the plan of a head of thirteen, and those of old heads, and 
big wigs, would not lack piquancy ; but this is mere idle 
regret. I w ill just note here a few of the articles of my plan, 
which I happen to remember, though, I am sorry to say, they 
are not the most striking : — 

Art. 3. The national ^w^er resided in the whole division. 
This power was delegated, by the majority of votes, to two 
consuls, charged with the administration of justice, and the 
maintenance of liberty. 

Art. 5. The power of the consuls was to last six months. 
They could not both be re-elected without an interval, but one 
might. (I protested at the time, and I still protest, against 
any imputation of personal motives in this clause — I do indeed.) 

Art. 16. Corporal punishment was abolished, as unworthy 
of free men. 


UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE AT AVORK. 


7 


Art. 18. Crimes against the res 'ptihlica were punished by 
ostracism. The nation alone could pronounce this, upon the 
proposals of the consuls. The citizen under ostracism lost all 
civic rights, and was cut oflP from all intercourse with the rest 
of the community. 

My project was adopted by acclamation, and, on a motion 
of the prince, an article was added in these words — “All 
titles and denominations of nobility are, and shall remain 
abolished.” This motion, dictated by the purest patriotism, 
brought shouts of applause to its author. After this incident, 
the nomination of the consuls took place at once. I was 
chosen unanimously, and the ex-prince, now simply Joseph, 
by fifteen votes out of nineteen. W e at once named our two 
lictors, and our choice fell upon the two brothers, ex-satellites, 
as being the best qualified to cause our decrees to be re- 
spected. We then returned thanks to the assembly in a 
few words, and upon our proposal it was agreed that the 
official installation of the new authority, and the oath to 
be taken to the constitution, to which some had thought of 
proceeding immediately, ahould be delayed for four days, 
that is, till the following Sunday. It became, we said, the 
dignity of the division, to surround with all possible pomp 
and solemnity the inauguration of the new order of things, 
and the delay of four days was not too much to prepare a 
little national holyday, intended to celebrate an event which, 
transmitted from generation to generation, would be imperish- 
able and form an era in the annals of the college. 

The active bustle of our little republic from that moment can 
only be compared to that of a hive of bees. All heads and all 
hands were at work to realize a magnificent Roman triumpT), 
of which happy idea I must take the entire credit to myself. 
Who can estimate the enormous quantity of wood, paste, 
pasteboard, gray, red, yellow, gold, and silver paper, con- 
sumed during these four days % The school-room was turned 
into a work-shop, and the play -hours were those of our hardest 
labor. One was making a cuirass, another a shield, a third 
was putting the finishing stroke to a helmet, a fourth was 
fashioning a sword. The musicians manufactured their instru- 


78 


LOKKNZO BKXOXT. 


ments ; the lictors prepared their fasces, and covered their 
axes with silver paper. Instead of following, step by step, the 
slow progress of these labors, let us view them at a glance in 
their majestic result. 

The following Sunday, then, at the play-hour after church, 
a long roll of drums announced the departure of the proces- 
sion, which put itself immediately in motion, and leaving the 
colonnade, under which it had just formed, came forth into the 
square, round which it was to march. The entrance to this 
square was effectually defended by the vigilant prefetto ; but 
the numerous windows opening upon it were crowded with 
spectators from the other divisions, who received the column 
at its first appearance with loud hurrahs, and prolonged clap- 
ping of hands. It was headed by a band composed of a clar- 
ionet, a fife, a trombone, and a huge drum, playing Avarlike 
flourishes and military marches. When I say that all the 
instruments except the drum were made of pasteboard, and 
that, consequently, our neAvly-created musicians dreAv all their 
music from their OAvn throats, you can imagine hoAv exact, as 
regards time and tune, Avas the performance. Each Avore a 
uniform of red paper, crossed upon the breast Avitli large bands 
of gold-leaf, a yelloAv shako and Avhite plume, and a sword by 
his side. Next came the lictors, Avith their fasces surmounted 
by shining axes. A long false beard, Avhich fell to the breast, 
and an immense fur cap, Avhich coA^ered the head, gave them 
a most imposing aspect. A silver corselet, a sort of Avhite 
apron hanging from the waist to just above the knees, and a 
short broadsAvord, of Avhich the black scabbard came out in 
fine relief against tlie Avhite ground of the apron, completed 
their costume. Then came, standing upright upon a sort of 
litter composed of rather ill-joined boards, and borne upon the 
shoulders of four citizens of equal height, the two consuls, Avliose 
steady equilibrium, and consequently their personal dignity, 
was frequently endangered by their inexperienced bearers. 
Our Roman costume shoAved some pretension to historic correct- 
ness, and I must say Ave had spared neither pain nor expense 
to attain that object. 

A wide-folding nankeen tunic, fastened ronnd the waist by 


THE ROMAN TRIUMPH. 


79 


a black leather band, somewhat after the fashion of the modern 
blouse, fell to our calves, and over this tunic floated something 
that had originally been a blue serge bed-curtain, and was now, 
by the ingenious addition of a broad scarlet fringe sewed on 
its border, raised to the dignity of a toga. Our arms and legs 
— this was the master-stroke — were naked, and these last 
sim'ounded by narrow bands of yelloAv leather, which imitated 
not amiss the ancient sandal. The magnificent helmet on our 
heads, and the broadsword which we brandished, Avere slightly 
at variance, it is true, Avith the rest of our peaceful apparel ; 
but how was it possible to resist the temptation these articles 
offered, when Ave saw nothing on every side but dresses re- 
splendent with silver and gold ? As a sort of corrective, Iioav- 
CA^er, of these Avarlike attributes, we wore round our helmets 
a wreath of olive, and the blades of our swords were entwined 
with garlands of oak-leaves. 

Tavo enormous Avhite flags, fastened to each side of the litter, 
formed a sort of majestic canopy above our heads. Upon one 
was painted a fascis, with this motto in golden letters, “ Union 
makes strength upon the other, two hands intertwined, with 
the words, “ Republic, fraternity.” The six boys Avho followed 
in the rear, and closed the procession, were remarkable for the 
richness of their cuirasses of gold and silver, and still more so 
for the great A^ariety of their head-gear, such as Spanish caps 
with gold bands and AA^hite plumes, cocked hats with Avide 
gold lace, helmets, shakos, etc. Alfred especially, in a com- 
plete light-cavalry uniform, red shako and gold epaulettes, 
with an immense broadsAvord in his hand, excited on his way 
the general admiration. 

When the cortege had marched round the square, and 
returned to the point from which it had started, there Avas a 
halt. The triumphal car of the consuls was set down, the 
lictors stood on each side, and the whole body ranged them- 
selves in a semicircle round the supreme magistrates. I then 
began to read the articles of the constitution, to Avhich the 
ex-prince and I Avere the first to SAvear obedience. Succes- 
sively as the name of each was called OA-er, the citizens came 
forward toward us, to take the oath of obedience to the law, 


80 


LORENZO BENONI. 


and of allegiance to the elect of the nation ; which done, 
each received from us a fraternal embrace. After this cere- 
mony, the procession moved on again in the same order as 
before, to the cries, a hundred times repeated, of “ God save 
the republic! God save our consuls I” to which responded 
the cries of the numerous spectators at the windows, waving 
white handkerchiefs in token of joy. In the meantime the 
musicians struck up brilliantly Rossini’s “ Tanti 'palpitir En- 
thusiasm was at its climax, all eyes glistened with emotion. 
At last, after having once more marched round the square, the 
procession passed under the colonnade, and there separated 
in the greatest order. 

In the evening there was a general illumination of the two 
windows belonging to the school-room of the second division, 
and a distribution of ices at the expense of the consuls. So 
ended a day for ever memorable among the traditions which 
are still preserved fresh and living in the college. 


OUB PEEFETTO, DON SILVESTRO. 


81 


CHAPTER X. 

GIVES A SKETCH OF DON SILVESTRO, AND SHOWS HOW LITTLE 
CAUSES CAN PRODUCE GREAT EFFECTS. 

In spite of a few acts of insubordination, quite unimportant 
in themselves, but which used to exasperate my ardent tem- 
pered colleague, who saw conspiracies everywhere, and breathed 
nothing but ostracism ; in spite of some occasional trifling 
whims of opposition, which the ex-prince looked upon as 
crimes of high treason, and would have punished as such, 
while gentleness and persuasion more easily overcame them ; 
in spite, I say, of thqse slight stumbling-blocks, things went 
on capitally in our division, which, after so many agitations, 
was beginning to enjoy the benefit of the free institutions it 
had given itself now more than a month since, when an inci- 
dent occurred which, although merely personal to me, and 
therefore of slight importance in itself, had, alas ! in its final 
results, the most disastrous effects upon the destinies of our 
young establishment — so true it is that the slightest cause 
may sometimes produce the most serious consequence ! 

I have hitherto delayed introducing to the notice of the 
reader the prefetto of our division, lest my account of him 
should appear almost incredible. As we are presently to see 
him at work, I trust that the not very flattering character 
which I am compelled to give him will be deemed amply jus- 
tified by its own doings. 

The prefetto of our division was an ugly, dirty, round-bellied 
priest, with a large red nose covered with carbuncles, which 
might have rivalled that of Shakspere’s Bardolph, and two 
little savage eyes bright with malice. Such, in two words, 

4 # 


82 


LOEENZO BENONI. 


was Don Silvestro. (The title of Do?i is given in Italy to all 
the clergy.) Scarcely able to read his breviary, knowing no 
language but the dialect of his mountains, his profound igno- 
rance, which he himself could not help being aware of, joined 
to natural and .instinctive malignity, kept him in a constant 
state of hostility toward a set of youths whose superiority 
humbled him, and disposed him to see an insult in any expres- 
sion, the meaning of which his thick skull could not catch. 
But this sort of latent ill-will transformed itself into open war- 
fare and frightful violence, whenever he chanced to be seized 
with a fit of a kind of malady, which we did not, know how 
to define, and which was nothing less than decided melancholy 
madness. I suspect, for my part, that these fits were, if not 
occasioned, at least aggravated, by excess in drinking, as there 
was always about him, on such occasions, a strong smell of 
spirits. His fixed idea in these fits was, that we were deter- 
mined to have his life. Sometimes he fancied we had poisoned 
his wine; at others he declared there was a plot to murder him 
during his sleep. I remember that one day he saw a menace 
of death to him in a red cross which I had most innocently 
painted on my desk. Another time he had one of my school- 
fellows sent to prison, as guilty of having sharpened a pen- 
knife with the intention of cutting his (the prefetto’s) throat. 
This unfortunate man died a few years afterward in a mad- 
house, raving in his last moments of nothing but poison and 
daggers. 

It was to such a man that the care and education of twenty 
young people of good family were confided. The thing appears 
incredible, yet such is the fact. It is not easy to imagine all 
we had to suffer from the humors of Don Silvestro, especially 
during his paroxysms — punishments inflicted at hap-hazard, 
and at every moment — false accounts to the superiors, which 
frequently caused us to be put on bread and water — besides 
the blows he showered on us thick as hail. The slightest 
observation, a second’s hesitation in bending to his caprice, 
threw him into absolute fury ; books, keys, inkstands, the first 
thing, in short, that came under his hand, would he hurl at 
our heads. One day, in the play-ground, he flung at me a 


AN UNLUCKY JOKE. 


83 


wooden bowl, heavy enough, had it reached me, to have killed 
me on the spot. Without any exaggeration, it is with me a 
matter of wonder that none of us was killed or maimed. 

One afternoon, when I had just finished a sonnet on the 
death of Hannibal, of which I had only to make a fair copy, 
I went up to the prefetto’s desk, to ask him for a sheet of 
white paper. This writing-paper, of which the prefetto had 
the daily distribution, was of such bad quality, that it was 
more fit, in tnith, to wrap up sugar-plums than to be written 
upon. Meaning in perfect innocence to make a pleasant, 
harmless joke, “ Please, Mr. Prefetto,” said I, “ will you be 
so good as to give me a sheet of that beautiful vellu7n paper ?” 
No sooner had I pronounced these words, than the savage — 
God forgive him ! — mistaking in his stupidity the word vellum 
for villian (rascally) answered me by such a stunning slap in 
the face, that literally a thousand sparks flashed in my eyes. 
The fit of rage which seized me at this treatment no words can 
express ; suffocation took from me at first the use of speech, 
which I no sooner recovered than I burst into the most violent 
torrent of invectives, throwing into the face of the priest appel- 
lations, the mildest of which were, ass, brute, and ruffian! 
“ Go on your knees,” cried the irritated prefetto. “ I won’t,” 
answered I, no less exasperated. “We’ll see as to that,” 
returned he, catching me violently round the waist; but I had 
just time to grasp one of the large desks which stood along 
the school-room, and Don Silvestro only succeeded in dragging 
me a few steps, and the desk along with me. Seeing he could 
not manage the thing in that way, he bethought himself of 
other means, and, in order to make me let go my hold, began 
to strike violently upon my hands with the key. But he had 
thus no better success ; for, as he could not beat both hands at 
once, so he could only make me loose one, while I held on 
firmly with the other, but never with both at once. 

Already my hands were bruised and bleeding, and pain 
drew from me smothered groans, when the vice-rettore entered. 
Don Silvestro instantly stated the case, of course suppressing 
all mention of the more than brutal provocation he had given. 
“ On your knees,” roared out the vice-rettore, “ on your knees, 


84 : 


LORENZO BKN'iNI- 


in the lobby.” — On my knees in that lobby into which opened 
all the school-rooms— i to be thus set before the whole com- 
mnnity — I, a prince, a consul!! No, never; death before 
dishonor ! But alas ! the combined efforts of my two execu- 
tioners soon tore me away from my protecting desk, and 
dragged me into the middle of the passage, ^etween accom- 
plishing this, however, and forcing me to bend my knees, they 
found a great difference. In vain did they try to do so by 
pulling my legs, or by pressing with their whole weight upon 
my shoulders, some how or other, there I was, still bolt upright. 
At last the prefetto, rendered frantic by my resistance, seized 
me by the collar, and flung me violently toward the opposite 
wall, against which my face struck with full force. The shock 
was so tremendous that I fell senseless ; when I recovered I 
found myself stretched on the ground, bathed in blood, which 
flowed abundantly from my nose. I was suffering dreadful 
tingling pain in my face, with a burning and intolerable sense 
of tension. The prefetto and the vice-rettore were stooping 
over me, and endeavoring to raise me. The sight of them, 
much more than the pain I felt, restored me to my full feeling 
of rage. To rise, pass the lobby at one bound, leap down two 
staircases, and rush like a rocket into the middle of the father 
rettore’s room, was all done in a second. “ Send for my 
mother. I’ll go away instantly — my mother, I wiU have my 
mother !” these words, broken by sobs, cries, passionate stamp- 
ing, and imprecations, were the only explanation I gave of my 
sudden apparition. 

At sight of the blood with which I was covered, and of the 
wild expression of my face, which was already very much 
swelled, the poor old man remained for a moment stunned and 
speechless ; then coming toward me with a hurried step, he 
forced me with gentle violence to sit down, and, with tears in 
his eyes, and a trembling voice, he began to talk to me with 
such kindness, such tenderness, that I was moved, and pres- 
ently my increasing emotion found vent in tears, which were 
an immense relief. This enabled me to give a short and faith- 
ful account of what had passed, to which the father rettore 
listened with the deepest interest. He then persuaded me to 


I MUST HATE MY ^lOTIIEK. 


85 


follow him to the infirmary, where he had me put to bed, and 
himself helped the assistant in Avashing my face, and in ap- 
plying to the swellings poultices of some soothing decoction. 

Disarmed by this touching and paternal care, I let him do 
what he would with a good grace, and listened Avith docility 
to all he chose to say to me respecting the danger of giving 
way to anger ; hut I insisted no less on seeing my mother. 
She was, in fact, sent for. She came next morning, and was 
dreadfully shocked at my bruised and swollen face. I related 
to her my misfortune Avith many tears, and expressed my firm 
determination to leave school. Contrary to my expectation, 
my mother made no objection (not that I supposed she would 
make any of her own accord, bless her !). She observed only 
that she must first of all know how matters stood, and for this 
purpose see the father rettore. The result of her conversation 
with him, and it was a long one, proved consonant with my 
wishes. The folloAving day my mother came for me in a car- 
riage, which took us to a country-house she possessed a short 
way out of toAvn. 

The satisfaction of ha\’ing carried my point, the novelty of 
the scene, the balmy air, the full and entire liberty I enjoyed, 
all conspired to throw me for a time into a sort of intoxication 
of happiness. At the end of a Av^eek I should have entirely 
forgotten my late mischance, if a large, livid spot over my 
right eye had not reminded me of it. Nevertheless, my entire 
solitude — for neither my father nor any of my brothers had 
appeared — began to hang heavy upon me, and I often thought 
with regret of poor Alfred, of our young republic, and of the 
prizes I might have had, and should not get. In short, by the 
end of another week, I was steeped in ennui, and completely 
miserable. My mother came to me in one of my moments of 
depression. “Well, my child, what do you say to going back 
to college, seeing Alfred again, and winning that host of prizes 
Avhich you have but to reach out your hand in order to ob- 
tain I went throughr the form of resisting a little at first, 
but ended by yielding; on condition, however, that at the end 
of the scholastic year, which Avould be in little more than two 
months, I should be taken altogether from school. There 


86 


LORENZO BENONI. 


could be no difficulty about that, for, as I afterward learned, 
the thing had been settled long before at headquarters, and 
my younger brother was to take my place. 

On the very evening of the day on which this conversation 
had been held, I returned to college. As I crossed the thresh- 
old of the schoolroom I received a most satisfactory impres- 
sion. Don Silvestro was no longer there (he had been sent 
away), and his desk was occupied by a new face. I was in- 
tensely delighted at this. I had at least been the instrument 
of some good to my comrades — that was a comfort; but alas ! 
in what a state of confusion, or rather of utter dissolution, did 
I find that establishment, which I had left so flourishing, so 
full of promise, only a fortnight before ! Its ruin was owing 
to the excessive severity of Joseph, the ex-prince. Vainly 
had Alfred, named consul in my stead, endeavored to moder- 
ate the vehemence of his colleague. It was a sort of mania 
with the boy ; for the slightest offence he invariably adjudged 
ostracism as the punishment. In short, things had come to 
such a pass, that the numerical majority of the company (such 
an absurdity seems scarcely credible) — the numerical majori- 
ty, I say, lay under ostracism. The exiles then established jv 
counter-government, named their own consuls, and deposed 
the former ones, who, along with their adherents, still held out. 
Civil war was thus, as it were, organized, and at any moment 
a collision might be dreaded between the two sections. All 
these details were given me by Alfred with tears in his eyes. 
“We have no hope but in you,” added he; “you alone can 
save us.” 

This intelligence threw^ me into a state of consternation ; 
and, even to this day, I can not tell whether I could have 
found within me sufficient determination and energy for the 
herculean task of setting, or rather of trying to set things a 
little to rights, when, at the very moment I was debating in 
my own mind the pros and cons of such an attempt, the father 
ministro came into the schoolroom, and made knovn to the 
prefetto that, by order of the father rettore, Mr. Lorenzo and 
Mr. Alfred were to pass from the second division to the first. 
The father rettore, who -was aware of the tender friendship 


PROMOTION. 


87 


which hound me to Alfred, had determined not to separate us ; 
for which kind attention I felt in my heart profoundly grate- 
ful. 

This promotion could not have come more opportunely, for 
it took me out of a terrible puzzle. We made a bundle of our 
books and papers, shook hands with our late companions, and 
five minutes afterward we were settled in the schoolroom of 
the first division, the members of which received us with 
marked sympathy and cordiality. 


£8 


LORENZO BENONI. 


CHAPTER XL 

SOME NEW CHAR-A.CTERS INTRODUCED THE FIRST DIVISION 

’ REBELS, AND CARRIES ITS POINT. 

I WAS very happy and very busy. Besides my every-day 
tasks, I had to prepare for the examinations, which were to 
take place in a month. Moreover, I had to write a grand com- 
position in blank verse, which I was to recite at the next dis- 
tribution of prizes, and to finish a large pencil-drawing, which 
was to be exhibited on the same occasion. Add to all this, 
that as I had a good ear and an agreeable voice, I had been 
chosen as tenor in a cantata for three voices, to be sung at the 
same solemnity. So that every day I spent one or two hours 
studying my part with the music-master, who made me learn 
it by heart, for I could not read the notes. 

Thus agreeably occupied, on very good terms with all my 
comrades, my dear Alfred by my side, with the prospect of a 
whole harvest of prizes, and of shortly leaving school — truly 
I had nothing to wish for ; and I looked upon the incessant 
agitations of the second division with the somewhat selfish 
feeling described by the poet, of a man who from the shore 
contemplates a vessel in the offing beaten by the tempest. I 
had never been so happy. Who could have guessed, alas ! 
that, in the midst of this deceitful calm, I was on the eve of 
a crisis, one of the most painful in my life ! 

The play-ground of the first division looked, on the southern 
side, over a yard full of rotten timber and rubbish, among which 
sported innumerable rats, to which we used to throw bread and 
fruit. The sight of these animals developed, it would seem, 
in one of our schoolfellows, named Vadoni, the organ of r«at- 


DECEITFUL CALM THE VICE-RE'rTOEE. 


89 


hunting. First, he declared war against them by pelting 
them with stones; then he tried to fish them np by means 
of a hook fastened to a piece of pack-thread. At last he 
took.it in his head to make a sort of rat-trap, which he used 
to let down every day into the yard by a cord ; and you might 
have seen Vadoni standing for hours together, on the same 
spot, and watching the slightest motions of the nimble tenants 
of the yard, with a degree of patience, or rather with an inten- 
sity of interest, worthy of a better cause, and rarely rewarded 
by success. Truly that rat must have sinned greatly, or fasted 
long indeed, who could have allowed himself to be caught 
in such an awkward trap. It was a rare, yet not unprece- 
dented case ; and just a fortnight after my entrance into the 
first company, as chance, or rather my ill luck would have it, 
an ill-starred rat happened to be taken. These captures were 
an event for the whole set, inasmuch as they afforded occasion 
to a barbarous sport ; for, to the shame of the civilization of 
the college be it said, the poor prisoners were consigned to an 
auto-da-fe — that is to say, first besmeared with turpentine, and 
then set fire to and left to run free, to the great amusement of 
the bystanders. 

Well, then, on the day of the capture I have just mentioned, 
at a signal given by the bell, we formed our ranks, two-and- 
two, as usual, and marched toward the schoolroom, Vadoni 
can-ying his rat-trap on his shoulder as a trophy. We had to 
pass through a narrow, dark passage leading to the broad one 
we have more than once had occasion to mention. In this 
first passage we met the vice-rettore, who stopped to see us 
file off before him. The vice-rettore was a strange being, or 
rather there were in him two distinct and quite different be- 
ings. The vice-rettore of the morning was a pale, taciturn, 
grave, and even melancholy man. The vice-rettore of after- 
dinner (the dinner-hour of the reverend fathers was one 
o’clock) underwent a complete transformation, that is to say, 
not only in his humor, but even in his external appearance. 
With lustrous eyes, and high-colored cheeks, the vice-rettore 
became brisk, talkative, and full of tricks. One of his favor- 
ite tricks — I regret it was not in better taste — was this : when 


90 


LORENZO BENONI. 


he chanced to meet a company moving along, he would stop 
as if to see it pass, then all of a sudden, seizing a propitious 
moment, he would fling out his leg and give a good kick to 
some pupil in the rear, who might not be on his guard. As 
this way of his was very well known, from the moment the 
vice-rettore’s black gown was seen to loom in the distance, 
every one was on the alert, and all passed before the worthy 
father, looking out carefully, and under visible anxiety. This 
sort of terror, which he excited on his passage, seemed to 
amuse the good man vastly, and to add a certain zest to his 
jocularity. 

It happened that the storm on this day was to fall upon poor 
Vadoni. He was watching the monk closely out of the corner 
of his eye, and, perceiving a suspicious movement, made a sud- 
den start to avoid what it portended. In so doing, he let slip 
the rat-trap he was carrying on his shoulder, which opened as 
it fell. Quick as lightning out darted the prisoner, and struck 
slap against the vice-rettore's face, who, either from the vio- 
lence of the blow, or in consequence of the surprise, fell back- 
ward at full length upon the floor. All this passed in less than 
ten seconds. We roared with laughter at the mischance of 
the jocular father, and thought he had only got what he de- 
served. 

A quarter of an hour afterward Vadoni was sent for by the 
father rettore. The bell rang for school, and Vadoni did not 
appear ; in due course the play-hour came, and we returned to 
the play-ground. Vadoni was still absent. Supper-time was 
near, and still no Vadoni. There could be no further doubt; 
he must be in prison. From that moment the greatest excite- 
ment prevailed in the whole set. “It is an injustice — an in- 
famous injustice; we can not put up with it!” We gathered 
together in a large group to deliberate. Several proposals 
were thrown out without leading to any conclusion. “ Let us 
send a deputation to the father rettore,” cried a voice. No 
one seemed anxious to form part of this deputation, as no one 
supported the motion. Only Sforza, who had remained silent 
till then, shrugged his shoulders, saying, “Nonsense 1” 

Sforza, whom we have had occasion to mention once in the 


A BORN LEADER. 


91 


course of this history, had emerged from his insiguificance, 
and acquired a sudden degree of importance by an act of cour- 
age ^vell worthy of being mentioned. One day his prefetto 
in a rage had threatened him with corporal punishment. 
Sforza calmly drew out his penknife, saying, in an attitude of 
firm expectation, “ Come on, if you dare !” The determined 
bearing of the youth had awed the priest, who desisted from 
his threat, and from that day Sforza was considered as the 
most spirited fellow of our set. 

dlie general excitement Avent on increasing ; there Avas 
a A’ast expenditure of talk, and gesture Avdthout any result, 
Avhen Sforza began thus — “Of Avhat use is talking? You 
are like the rats Avho would fain liaA^e put a bell round 
the neck of the cat, but did not know how. Fewer Avords 
and more action. 'Will you trust to me ? I Avarrant that 
AA'ithin tAvo hours Vadoni shall be restored to the company.’’ 
“ But how ?” exclaimed a dozen Amices. “ It don’t signify 
hoiv-m^, Avdiat aao AA^ant is to have back Yadoni, and Avords 
Avon’t giA'e him to us. Once more, Avill you trust to me, and 
do as I bid you ?” The boy had neAmr made so long a speech 
in his life. 

It is said that in times of reAmlution strong and energetic 
natures find their place, and assume command as their inhe- 
rent right ; and it is^ certain that at tliis moment eacli of 
us felt the superiority of Sforza, and acknoAvledged in him 
our legitimate leader in the coming crisis. He looked really 
fine, and his broAvn features, animated as they Avere, breathed 
energy and resolution. Each gave him a hand in token of 
assent and promise, and tAvo messengers AAmre fortliAvith 
despatched to the second and third divisions, Avith a strict 
injunction implicitly to folloAv the example of the first. 

The bell for supper rang. We had just taken our seats in 
the refectory, Avhen the vice-rettore, avIio habitually presided 
at our meals, made his appearance, and a Amlley of hisses and 
jrroans rose from our table. The second and the third faith- 
fill to their orders, sent forth a loud echo, and CAmn the loAimr 
companies, from a spirit of imitation, joined in the uproar. 
The vice-rettore became as red and angry as a turkey-cock, 


LORENZO BEN ONI. 


92 

an4 ordered “silence!” Fresti groans, fresli hisses, mixed 
with cries of “Where is Vadoni “ We’ll haveVadom!” 
broke forth from every corner of the refectory, and drowned 
the words of the incensed superior. The tumult and disorder 
continued without intermission. The voice of the lecturer (it 
was the custom during the first part of the repast for one of 
the pupils so termed to read aloud, and silence was absolutely 
required, his voice, I say), was lost amid a roar of loud talking 
in the whole community. The poor fellow wasted his breath 
in vain. At last he stopped, threw a piteous look at the 
father vice-rettore, as much as to say, “You see that it s^ all 
labor lost,” shut the book, and came down from the reading- 
desk, The defection of the lecturer was saluted by a univer- 
sal shout of laughter, and cries of “Well done I — well done 1 

Down with the tyrant 1 — Hurrah for Vadoni 1 — We’ll have 

Vadonil” 

As a means of cutting short the disturbance, the vice-rettore 
bethought himself of shortening supper, and made haste to 
give the signal of retreat by saying grace before the time. 
The lower companies rose as usual, at this sign, but the first 
protested, and remained seated at table, crying, “ We have 
not supped!” — “Vadoni, Vadoni!” The second and third 
did the same. The two inferior ones, who had already risen, 
resumed their seats.* The baffled superior tried an act of au- 
thority ; he seized one of our set by the collar, and endeavored 
to pull him from his seat by force. The whole company rose 
as one man, and ran to the rescue of the comrade thus at- 
tacked. A regular stmggle ensued between the vice-rettore, 
seconded by our prefetto, and the whole first division, supported 
by the second and third. The two priests were soon worsted, 
pushed by the ever-increasing flood of pupils toward the en- 
trance, and finally driven out of the refectory, the door of 
which was shut upon them. Remaining thus masters of the 
field, we celebrated our victory by frantic hurrahs, without 
thinking any more of the supper. Everybody was too much 
excited to think of eating. 

Ten minutes later, the door opened again, and the father 
ministro entered. This looked like another victory ; the vice- 


REBELLION. 


93 


rettore tlared not show his face. Yet, as there was nothing 
menacing in the aspect of the father ministro, he met with no 
hostile reception. He did not say one word. After waiting 
a few moments he began to chant the grace, to which more or 
less decently the responses came. The divisions formed them- 
selves two and two, and filed ofi*, the first as usual taking the lead. 

The door of the refectory opened upon the play-ground of 
the second company, in which has passed the principal part 
of the events we have recounted in this history. On the right 
hand of the refectory door was a staircase leading to the upper 
story, in which were situated the school-rooms and dormitories. 
Instead of turning to the right in the direction of the staircase, 
at a word of command from Sforza our company turned to the 
left, and scattered itself in the wide-spreading play-ground. 
The divisions that followed did in like manner, and all the 
sets, mingling into one great body, began to march round the 
square, vociferating, yelling, howling, and hissing. The pre- 
dominant cry was ever, “ Vadoni, we’ll have Vadoni! — down 
with the vice-rettore !” The scene of tumult and confusion 
baffies all description. The father ministro, the prefetti, the 
servants each carrying a light, rushed from side to side, bawl- 
ing, entreating, gesticulating, like men possessed. Here and 
there they would pull away some chance-isolated pupil, and 
try to make him a rallying point, but as fast as they brought 
in some new reemit, the former escaped, so that they had to 
begin anew. It was really like the work of the Danaides. 
Each column of the cloister furnished a hiding-place, and fa- 
vored the manoeuvres of the runaways. Truly it was a new 
kind of coursing, and who knows when it might have ended ; 
but that, after an hour, the sport became monotonous and tire- 
some, so that, out of mere weariness, the companies formed 
anew by degrees, and of their own accord made their way up 
stairs to the dormitories. 

Now, we had lost our faithful auxiliaries, and we had but 
our own resources to depend upon in order to carry on the 
agitation, and bring it to a result in the liberation of Vadoni. 
“ He who goes to bed before Vadoni is given back to us is a 
coward,” cried Sforza, who during the exercise of his general- 


9i 


LOEENZO BENONI. 


ship had proved himself well worthy of the chief command. 
This little devil was seen everywhere, and always in the fore- 
most line, incessantly animating the rest by word and example. 
It was then a settled point that nobody should go to bed ; 
but something must be done to kill time. Sforza organized 
a march, with military step, up and down the dormitory. 
We marched four abreast, mimicking the flourishes of trum- 
pets, and every now and then stopping to roar out, “ Vadoni, 
we’ll have Vadoni!” 

However, the whole night could not be passed in this 
amusement, and I do not know whether we should not have 
ended by going quietly to bed, if no one had interfered. In 
truth, the only reasonable plan would have been to let the 
fire spend itself, and I can not conceive how the masters did 
not adopt this expedient. As I have hinted, a sort of languor 
was beginning to creep over the agitators, when the father 
ministro took up the unlucky idea of coming to try and do 
something. His appearance had the effect of a barrel of oil 
thrown upon only half-extinguished embers. Howling, scream- 
ing, cries of “Vadoni,’’ all began again worse than ever. A 
sort of fury seized all minds. Suddenly Sforza caught hold 
of the coverlets of his bed, and flung them into the middle of 
the dormitory. The other pupils followed his example. After 
the covering came the pillows, then the mattresses. An enor- 
mous heap of bedding thus arose in the middle of the room. 
What was the object of this operation? It had none. It was 
said afterward, and the superiors accredited the report, which 
had taken root in the college as a tradition of terror, that 
our intention was to set fire to the bedding. No such thing. 
Neither Sforza nor any of the rest uttered a word, or had the 
remotest idea, connected in the slightest degree with so rash a 
deed. It is possible, nay, even probable, that a fear of this sort 
may have crossed the mind of the prefetto, who left the dormi- 
tory some time after, and very likely went to communicate his 
apprehensions on the subject to -the superiors. It is certain, 
however, that nobody thought of burning anything, and that 
the sole object we had in view was to do somethings and to be 
as unruly and disorderly as possible. 


AUTHORITY IS VANQUISHED. 


95 


The prefetto left us, as I have said, and a sort of lull ensued. 
Every one was worn out; every one felt, besides, that a 
crisis was approaching, that is to say, that things had been 
pushed far enough to call for the intervention of that dreaded 
power, which was unwilling to show itself except when there 
was a dignus vindice nodus. Each was, therefore, collecting 
courage for the decisive trial. The greater number of the set 
were seated, each on the side of his own bedstead, awaiting 
in silence what was to ensue. 

Our expectation was not deceived. Soon was heard in the 
distance that piercing voice which had never commanded in 
vain. The man, before whom every will bowed, all resistance 
yielded, was at hand. “Courage!” said Sforza, “let us re- 
ceive him like the rest, and Vadoni is ours.” The old monk 
entered, having on his right the vice-rettore, and the father 
ministro on his left. There was a movement in the room. 
Some pupils, by the force of long habit, rose in token of respect. 
Some voices, that of Sforza clearly heard above all others, cried 
out, “ Vadoni, we’ll have Vadoni;” but they were an insig- 
nificant minority. 

“Silence!” thundered the terrible voice, “who dares to 
utter a word in my presence?” A pause — universal silence. 
“What is the meaning of all this ? No one wills here but I. 
Enough of this scandalous riot. Immediate and entire sub- 
mission can alone secure pardon for those who have been led 

astray. As to the ringleaders ” At this critical moment, 

the lamp which lighted the dormitory, struck by some 
ponderous projectile, fell broken into shivers, and went out. 
Darkness restored courage to the timid. Cries, stamping, 
groans, recommenced more violently than ever. The iron 
bedsteads were set jogging, which made a frightful clatter. 
No means of making one’s self heard. The blow which had 
extinguished the lamp had secured victory for the rebellious. 
Authority was vanquished. 

We remained in the dark about a quarter of an hour. When 
light was brought, we beheld Vadoni coming in, half asleep, 
and seeming to understand nothing of what was going on about 
him. “Three cheers for Vadoni!” We hoisted him on a 


96 


0 


LORENZO EENONl. 

chair, and carried him in triumph round the dormitory. This 
done, each fished out of the heap of bedding wherewithal to 
make his bed, and ten minutes later silence and sleep reigned 
within those walls, which had recently resounded with such 
deafening noise. 


\ 





" 2 





IMPAVIDUM FERIENT RUINiE. 


97 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE TABLES TURNED DAMON AND PYTHIAS, TRIUMPHAL EXIT 
FROM SCHOOL. 

The moment of awaking after having committed some great 
folly, is very disagreeable. This we experienced on the follow- 
ing morning. My conscience, I confess, was far from easy, and 
the reflections of my comrades, to judge from their long faces, 
must have been anything hut cheerful. While we were still 
dressing, the father vice rettore came into the dormitory, and 
took the prefetto aside : they had a long confabulation together. 
At the end of the conversation, the prefetto went out, and the 
vice-rettore remained in his stead. Without being a conjuror, 
it was easy to guess that the prefetto had been sent for to 
give some information touching the rebellion of the preceding 
evening. There was evidently a storm in the air. I whispered 
as much to Sforza as we entered the schoolroom together. 
“ Well, they won’t hang us !” replied he. Most likely not — 
that was a consolation. 

The vice-rettore looked big and fierce. The prefetto came 
back after an absence of about an hour, and the vice-rettore 
left. There was an awful solemnity in the aspect of the pre- 
fetto. We dared not breathe. Ten minutes had scarcely 
elapsed, when the vice-rettore returned, followed by a servant. 
“Vadoni,” said he, frowning, “leave your place.” Vadoni 
came forward, as white as a sheet. The servant, upon a sign 
from the monk, emptied Vadoni’s desk of his hooks and papers, 
and made a bundle of them. We all knew what that meant. 
The poor boy, no doubt, thought himself under the influence 
of nightmare. 


98 


LORENZO IJENONI. 


Poor Vadoni ! if ever there was an innocent being nnjnstlv 
condemned, it was surely he ! Not only Avas he free from all 
reproach, but he was one of the candidates for the prize of 
good behavior, alias the prize of the geese. The superiors 
ought to have gone down on their knees, and begged pardon 
for the hours of imprisonment unjustly inflicted on him, and 
they expelled him ! But Vadoni’s crime was having served as 
a standard, and schools also have their reasons of state — a 
plague on it, the more the pity ! After Vadoni, it Avas Sforza’s 
turn. No change came over his brow; his countenance did 
not betray the least^emotion, only in the corner of his mouth 
lurked a curl of defiance. There was the stuff of a man in 
that boy ! 

The hour which followed these tAvo executions appeared to 
us very long; it passed in a state of anxiety impossible to be 
described. Breakfast came, however, without further incident. 
The bell rang for school, and Ave began to breathe more freely. 
Just as I Avas going into school I Avas told that the singing- 
master had come, and that I Avas to go and take my lesson. 
It lasted unusually long, and by the time it was ended the boys 
were returned from the classes to the school-room, Avhere I 
joined them. Alfred was not in his place. A giddiness came 
over me. Could it be that he had been expelled ? I ques- 
tioned my neighbor, and learned from him that Alfred, during 
the class, had been sent for by the father rettore, and had not 
reappeared. This intelligence, as may Avell be supposed, did 
not lesson my anxiety. Under some pretext, I Avent to Alfred’s 
desk ; his books and papers were there. This circumstance 
somewhat reassured me. But, at each minute that elapsed, my 
anxiety returned, and became more and more intense. I Avas 
really at a loss what to think and what to do, Avhen one of my 
companions, who had been out to the dressing-room to try on 
a new coat, came in, and showed me from a distance, unseen 
by the prefetto, a folded paper, upon Avhich he Avrote some 
words. This paper, passed from hand to hand, soon reached 
me. It bore no address. On the outside AA^ere these Avords, 
“ Given me by Alfred, Avhom I met in the dressing-room.” 


DEAK, BOY ! 


99 


I opened the note precipitately. It contained what follows, 
written in pencil : — 

“ I am expelled. I could not do otherwise than confess that 
it was I who broke the lamp. I hope that no one will cast a 
doubt upon my truth. Don’t vex yourself about me. I can 
easily pacify my father. Yours ever. “Alfred.” 

In order to understand this note, some little explanation is 
necessary. The reader will, no doubt, remember the incident 
which, on the night of the disturbance, cut short the speech of 
the father rettore, and gave the victory to rebellion, I mean 
the breaking of the lamp which lighted our dormitory. Well 
— in all humility I confess it — I was the author of the deed ! 
The instrument I had made use of was a shoe, the first thing 
that came under my hand. My bed and Alfred’s being close 
to each other, the shoe of which I made a projectile, as my evil 
star would have it, belonged to him. Some one, most likely 
the prefetto, had picked it up, as evidence for the inquest. As 
soon as Alfred, when called before the father rettore, had his 
shoe presented to him, he instantly understood that the only 
means of saving me was to adopt the misdemeanor, and, dear 
boy ! he had not hesitated to sacrifice himself for me. 

Alfred’s note was a thunderbolt to me. His devotion called 
up all the generous instincts of my nature. I did not hesitate 
in my turn. I rushed instantly to the father rettore’s room. 
“ Father, it was I who broke the lamp. Alfred is innocent. 
Punish me, for I deserve it ; but it were unjust that the inno- 
cent should suffer for the guilty.” 

The father rettore did not probably expect such a compli- 
cating occurrence. He was highly provoked, and could not 
restrain a burst of impatience. “ What is the meaning of 
this ?” cried he, rising and striking the table violently ; “ is 
authority become a mockery, that the credit of a bad deed is 
to be contended for? Your wishes shall be gratified, sir,” and 
he lifted his hand to seek the bell. But it stopped half way, 
and then returned to its former position. The father rettore 
resumed his seat, and continued in these words : — “Thank my 


LORENZO BENONI. 


100 

forbearance, sir, for allowing this unpleasant incident to 
pass without further notice. Return to your studies. I am 
not the dupe of your would-be Pythias-like sacrifice. Alfie 
has confessed, and Alfred is consequently punished. Justice 
is satisfied. Tou may contrive to be lost with him, but you 
can not save him. His expulsion is irrevocable.” I began to 
stammer out some observation. “Silence!” thundered the 
father, “I do not choose to hear. I do not choose to 
know any more. We sought one of the guilty; we have 
found him. Do not force me to give a cause of affliction to 
your mother. Go, I say !” What could I do but obey ? I 
obeyed. 

Was the incredulity of the father rettore with respect to my 
culpability real or assumed? The time of the examinations 
and the distribution of prizes, was fast approaching, as I have 
already said, and on both these occasions I was destined to 
come off with considerable honor to myself— honor which 
would naturally be reflected back upon the establishment. 
The next who, in case of my absence, would have made the 
best figure, was a day-scholar, who held the first place after 
me in the classes. Now, the reverend fathers did not much 
like that the day-scholars should outshine their boarders. Had 
these considerations any weight in determining the conduct of 
the father rettore- toward me? I merely lay the question be- 
fore the reader, leaving it to his sagacity to decide the point 
This is certain, that when he expressed the wish to spare my 
mother sorrow, he was quite sincere ; for, as I have already 
had occasion to say, he had the greatest respect for that most 
excellent and pious woman. 

To appreciate the extent of Alfred’s sacrifice, the unfortunate 
consequences of an expulsion from school must be explained. 
In a country despotically governed, as ours was, where every- 
body — young and old — was fashioned to passive obedience, 
any act betraying independence, even a childish freak, was 
looked upon as a crime against the state, and the advancement 
in life of a young man who had given way to such was most 
seriously impeded. A pupil expelled from one .>f the public 
establishments for education, found the career of public em 


THE EXTENT OF THE SACRIFICE. 


101 


ployment insuperably shut against him, as well as that of the 
liberal professions, such as law, medicine, and others, for which 
a university degree was necessary, because the university was 
closed for ever to the unfortunate youth who had been turned 
out of school. Reason revolts against the idea of a punish- 
ment so entirely out of proportion to the offence ; but such, 
unluckily, was the state of things in Piedmont in the year of 
grace 1822 . 

With Alfred, I had lost all the interest of my school life, 
and the two months I had to remain in the college after his 
departure, became a complete blank to me, and seemed dread- 
fully long. My only consolation during this time was seeing 
him on those days when we walked out (for he never failed to 
put himself in our way), and exchanging with him a few words 
or a shake of the hand, and admiring his good looks in his 
young man’s dress. 

At length came the day of deliverance. The distribution 
of the prizes took place, as usual, in the college church. The 
high altar was transformed for the occasion into an amphi- 
theatre of benches, rising one above another, whereon we sat 
in state, with white cravats and white cotton gloves. The 
spectators, chiefly composed of the parents and acquaintances 
of the pupils, sat thickly ranged in the nave. The archbishop, 
the governor of the military division, and the president of the 
senate, filled seats of honor. 

The cantata went off very well, and the public called for the 
reappearance of the singers twice over. My hymn to Provi- 
dence, in blank verse, repeated with great animation, was also 
rewarded with loud applause. Then the names of the pupils 
marked to receive prizes were called in succession, beginning 
with the inferior classes. At last came the class of rhetoric ; 
“ First prize in Latin verse. Master Lorenzo.” I came down 
from the raised form, and went to receive a wreath of laurel 
and some books from the hands of the archbishop. By the 
public, who had already seen me twice, I was clamorously 
welcomed. I was half way up the steps returning to my place, 
when my name again resounded — “First prize in Italian 
poetry. Master Lorenzo.” I could only lay my wreath and 


10 '^ 


LOKENZO IJENONI. 


bo'ks upon a step, and return to recehe fresh hooks and 
a’ mother wreath. This time it was my mother who placed it 
C 1 my head, with tears of joy in her eyes, and tenderly 
mhracing me. The audience, touched and surprised, hurst 
nto thunders of applause. As I was returning to my place, 
ny name was called again, and I found myself once more in 
die same embarrassment as before — “Prize of Geometry, 
Master Lorenzo.” The prize of geometry had scarcely been 
awarded, when that of drawing came close upon its heels, 
also “Master Lorenzo.” It is impossible to describe the 
enthusiasm that followed. 

The first prize of Eloquence, or Latin prose, as the most 
important, was reserved for the last, and was termed “ the 
highest first prize of the whole distribution.” All the prizes 
but this one being disposed of, there was a pause ; then the 
orchestra played a tune, which being ended, there was a minute 
of thrilling expectation, deep silence, and every ear upon the 
stretch — “The highest first prize of the whole distribution. 
Master Lorenzo !” Who could paint the excitement that ran 
through the assembly at this announcement? The father 
rettore rose, came toward me, and threw himself into my arms 
in tears. Poor Signor Lanzi positively sobbed aloud. The 
applause became, if possible, more frantic. I was deeply 
moved, very happy, at this moment. There was especially 
one pair of little hands never still, always clapping with inces- 
sant vigor, which I never lost sight of, and whose approbation 
went directly to my heart. 

After the distribution we went into the refectory, where a 
capital supper awaited us, at which the relations of the pupils 
who had got prizes were allowed to be present. Alfred, hold- 
ing by the skirts of my mother’s gown, glided after her into' 
the apartment. Another sort of ovation was there in store for 
me. All the pupils, as well as the superiors, came, one after 
another, to embrace me. The ladies and gentlemen present 
chose to do the same. Every one would see and touch the 
little prodigy ! What with questions, praises, and caresses, I 
was half stifled. When, at length, supper ended, and the 
general enthusiasm began to calm, I took leave of the kind 


TRIUMPHAL EXIT FROM SCHOOL. 


103 


father rettore, and of all the reverend fathers present, and, 
tottering under my load of books and wreaths, I left school — 
this time to return no more. Arm in arm with Alfred, in 
company with my father and mother and two of my brothers, 
I went home. 


104 


LORENZO BEN ONI. 


CHAPTER XIIL 

ABSURD NOTIONS AND TIMELY CHECKS 1 PURSUE MY STUDIES 

AT THE SEMINARY, AND LIGHT UPON AN OLD FOE. 

That the unprecedented success I had obtained, and the 
kind of ovation of which I had been the hero, had a little 
turned my head, is a thing not to he wondered at ; nor was 
the unbounded admiration of Alfred, and the mode in which 
he gave vent to it, calculated to lessen the sort of intoxication 
under which I was laboring ; and if I did not exactly enter 
the world in the attitude of a conqueror, lance in rest, I must 
yet allow that the feeling predominant in me at the time was, 
that society at large, on the day of my accession to it, had had 
the benefit of a rather important acquisition. My organ of 
self-conceit, which was fast developing, was not, however, des- 
tined to do so long unchecked. 

It was about a question of great moment to me — the ques- 
tion of my equipment — that the notion of my own importance 
met with a sudden check. I had proffered a request for two 
complete suits, and expected to be complimented on my mod- 
esty. Quite the contrary. My father made a wry face, ex- 
pressive of anything but approbation, and observed dryly that 
“ articles of dress were exorbitantly dear, and that two suits 
were too much by half. What could I want with two suits, 
which I should have outgrown by next year ? A suit of black 
for holydays, when it was fine weather, was all that I could 
want. As for every-day wear, my college uniform, properly 
altered, would do very well.” My mortification at the opposi- 
tion I met with was extreme. Among my schoolfellows some 
had been promised a gold repeater, nay, some a horse, a real, 


SELF-BIPOETANCE MOMENTOUS QUESTIONS. 105 

live liorse, for a tenth part of the honors I had obtained, while 
I was grudged two miserable suits of clothes ! Could there 
he anything too much for a “ highest first prize of the whole 
distribution Why, if I had thought fit to ask for a mantle 
of purple and ermine, who dared say that I had no claim to 
one ! 

My mother did not fail to plead my wonderful success. 
“ Tut, tut !” replied my father with a tone of impatience, 
“ each of his brothers has done as much.” Go, then, and con- 
quer the world, to be told that Alexander and Csesar existed 
before you ! 

However, the point was carried somehow or other, and I had 
carte hlanche for two complete suits. Two portentous questions 
now arose, which wholly engrossed my thoughts : what mate- 
rials had I best choose 1 and which was the cut calculated to 
display my person to the best advantage ? I had no one to 
consult, for, on the very day following that of the distribution, 
Alfred had gone to spend the holydays in the country with 
his family ; and of my two brothers who were at home, the 
youngest, who was about to succeed me at college, inspired 
me with no confidence in his taste, while the eldest was so 
much of a man, that I shrank from exposing before him the 
weakness of my vanity. Csesar, my elder by eighteen months, 
the only one who could have helped me, was gone on a visit 
to our uncle the canon, to recover, by change of air, from the 
effects of scarlet fever. So I was left entirely to my own in- 
spiration. At last I determined that a man of my consequence 
could not do without a suit of black. Suppose — and what 
was more likely — that the archbishop or the governor of the 
town were to send for me, or even, who knows, that I should 
be summoned to court ? Positively, I must have a suit of 
black. For the second, I chose a coat of very shining chest- 
nut cloth, and sky-blue pantaloons, adding most particular in- 
structions to the tailor to give the whole a cut in the latest 
style, which, by-the-by, happened to be tolerably absurd. I 
remember that the pantaloons were what were called “ Ypsi- 
lanti trowsers,” very full, with a hundred plaits round the 
waist, and closing over the boot with a tie. Coats, “ fish-tail 

5 * 


106 


LORENZO BENONI. 


coats,” as they were styled, had hnge collars, and long, narrow 
flaps. My sole occupation for a week was to go several times 
a day to the tailor’s, to watch over the making up of these 
beautiful materials, and hurry the delivery of the longed-for 
habiliments. 

The choice of a hat also engaged much of my attention. 
Heads at that time were divided between two systems of hats 

— narrow-brimmed, short-napped hats, and broad-brimmed, 
long-napped ones. After mature reflection, I decided in favor 
of the broad-brimmed, of course the shape that least became 
me. At length my whole equipment was completed ; and, one 
fine Sunday morning, I was at last able to admire myself in 
the glass, attired, in a chestnut coat, sky-blue trowsers, fancy 
waistcoat and cravat, my hat placed slightly on one side, white 
cotton gloves, and a whalebone switch in my hand. Thus 
adorned, and not a little pomatumed, I sallied forth to pay a 
visit to my uncle John. 

Uncle John was my mother’s only surviving brother, and 
her senior by twenty years at least. My mother, who valued 
and loved him dearly, had particularly desired that my first 
visit should be to pay my respects to him. Uncle John was 
to me more like an abstract being than a living man, inasmuch 
as there was no one whose name I had heard so often, and 
whose face I had seen so seldom. His visits to me, during my 
five years of college, had amounted, at the most, perhaps to a 
dozen, and then he was always in a hurry. The only impres- 
sion left with me by these visits — but that a deep-rooted one 

— was, that Uncle John did not like boys; and this feeling, 
now reviving in full force, was far from adding to my self-pos- 
session. 

I found my uncle reading, and, as he bent over his book, I 
could not help being struck by the noble regularity of his pro- 
file, and the pensive expression of his countenance. As I 
found afterward, he was a living picture of Leonardo da Vinci. 
Though sixty years of age, his hair, which he wore very short, 
was still black, slightly sprinkled with gray, which produced 
a bluish tint, very singular, but soft and agreeable to the eye. 
“Hey, hey, my boy,” cried Uncle John, as soon as he saw 


MY UNCLE JOHN. 


107 


me; “how spruce we are!” and he rose from his chair; as if 
the better to examine me. “What tailor has made such a 
figure of you I blushed up to the eyes. “ Don’t be abashed, 
my boy,” continued he, “ I have been as absurd as that my- 
self in my time. Most men who dress (savages who do not 
are far superior to us in this respect) — most men, I say, are 
subject to become the victims of their tailors. Nobody knows 
how to dress before forty. Now, what I mean to say is, that 
if your father has the good sense to confide you to my care” (my 
uncle’s heau ideal for me was, that I should enter commerce 
under his guidance, a prospect which my father abhorred), 
“ this is not the equipment in which I should wish to see you 
walking about Banchiy Such is the name of the exchange, 
near which my uncle had lived for the last twenty years of 
his life. 

. I knew not what to say, and therefore remained silent. Un- 
cle John then turned the conversation upon my late success, 
and complimented me highly. “ I have read Avith pleasure 
your ‘ Hymn to Providence,’ ” said he, “ and I see that you 
have a happy knack at versifying; but — verba, verba, praete- 
reaque nihil. You must learn to condense. To condense, my 
dear fellow, is the great secret of art. Here is the noble mas- 
ter who will teach you this. Read Dante through ten times,” 
added Uncle John, tapping the open volume before him, “ and 
then, if you have time, and a mind for it, set to writing 
verses; but not before — not before — do you take me?” I 
think I did. 

What with the novelty of the remarks thus offered, and the 
tone, half-earnest, half-jeering, in which they were uttered, I 
was rather bewildered, and very ill at ease ; so, as soon as I 
could with any degree of propriety, I rose to go. “Well, my 
boy,” said my uncle, shaking me warmly by the hand, “ if you 
can bear to hear an honest truth roughly told, without its ma- 
king you too angry, come and see me often ; and, never mind 
if I do pique you a little now and then ; it is all for your 
good. So now good-by I” 

When I got into the street, on leaving my uncle’s house, I 
felt that I did not walk along with the same assurance as I 


108 


LORENZO BENONI. 


had done half an hour before. His remarks had produced 
upon me something like the effect of a bucket of cold AA ater 
thrown over a man in full perspiration. Nevertheless, I was 
set a-going, and on I must go ; so I made my way to “ Our 
Lady of the Vines,” the fashionable church, and attended the 
one o’clock mass, the fashionable mass. I then joined the 
crowd of exquisites, who, ranged in a double row on each side 
of the portal, watched the ladies as they streamed forth from 
church, and compared notes. Apparently the fame of my high 
deeds had not yet made its way to this quarter. I created no 
sensation at all ; no lady, young or old, blushed or fainted at 
the sight of me. No one evinced the slightest symptom of 
curiosity, sympathy, or wonder. Nobody came and said, “ You 
are the young man who got so many prizes ! I admire you !” 
or anything of the kind. I paced up and down the Via Balbt 
Nuova and Nuovissima, and in the evening went to the Acqiia- 
sola, the public walk frequented by the elegant world. There 
were two military bands playing there, and the crowd was 
immense ; but not a single soul tOv'k the slightest notice of 
me or of my chestnut coat and sky-blue pantaloons. And 
when, tired and dispirited, I got home at night, I found no 
summons from either the archbishop or the governor. 

Next day I began again, and several days following, but 
with no better success. The only adventures I met with 
during my perambulations were not much calculated to en- 
hance my good opinion of myself. Once I got into a quarrel 
with two boys, who had taken the liberty of laughing in my 
face, and who called me snob and jackanapes, and threatened 
to break my own cane across my back. Another time, at the 
fashionable Cairo caffe, the glass out of which I was taking 
an ice slipped from my hands and fell to the gi'ound, and its 
contents,' besides dam.aging not a little my ypsilantis, bespat- 
tered the white gown of a young lady, who unfortunately 
happened to be seated near me. Now this was very awkward, 
and as all eyes in the room, which was crowded, told me so, 
my confusion was extreme. At the end of a fortnight my 
fit of vanity was considerably abated, and I asked myself 
— to what purpose all this waste of time, boots, and jessamine 


I TAKi: TO READING. 


109 


pomatum? This life of self-exhibition was, in truth, little 
consonant with my nature, and I gave it up without regret. 
I stayed at home, and took to reading. 

I read from morning till night. Novels, fairy tales, tales of 
chivalry in verse and prose, travels ; in short, whatever came 
to my hand I devoured with ever-craving avidity. I used to 
spend the whole day in a solitary little room in the remotest 
corner of the house, where it seemed to me that I enjoyed my 
books more, and there, plunged in a sort of ecstacy, I forgot 
completely the external world. Fiction obliterated reality. 
What an inexhaustible mine of now pleasures, of delicious 
emotions, opened upon me ! The wonderful, especially, had 
an irresistible attraction ; and when my mother prevailed upon 
me to go out to walk, how great was my reluctance to leave, 
how great my rapture to return to my darling books ! One of 
those which made me at once most happy and most miserable, 
was the adventures of “ Paul and Virginia.” I have shed 
more tears over that little volume than would suffice to drown 
once more its unfortunate heroine. Another book, Mrs. Rad- 
cliffe’s “ Italian,” made a most profound impression upon me. 
There was, in particular, a certain hravo named Spalatro, a 
mysterious, wretched habitation on the sea-shore, and in one 
of the chambers on the ground-floor a certain sack that moved 
of itself, which filled me with a most delicious terror. How 
often, starting from sleep in the dead of niglit, have I fancied 
that I saw this dreadful sack at the foot of my bed, on which 
the moon was shining ! 

But my health soon began to suffer from this sedentary 
life, my appetite failed, and my legs would scarcely support 
me. My mother perceived this, and hastened the moment 
of our annual removal to the country-house I have already 
mentioned, where I had felt so much ennui a few months pre- 
viously. I was forbidden to take any books with me. Two 
months passed in the open air among the hills, and in constant 
exercise, did me a great deal of good ; and when, at the close 
of the vacation, toward the end of October, the family returned 
to town, I was completely restored. 

It was about this period that I went for the first time, to 


110 


LORENZO BENONI. 


tlie theatre. The orchestra, the ballet, the dresses, the 
scenery, the singing, that varied yet harmonizing whole 
which constitutes an opera, produced upon me such an 
extraordinary effect as no words can describe. It was as 
if a new being had arisen within me, a being possessing 
powers hitherto unknown, and capable of the greatest things. 
What would I not have given for an opportunity of trying 
this new strength, and of signalizing myself in some way ! 
A slight idea of my excitement may be formed, when I say 
that I went home with a fit of fever, which kept me three 
days in bed. 

One evening, a short time after our return, my father called 
me into his study. My father had a very large head, and 
wore powder and a pig-tail. I don’t know how it was, but I 
never felt at ease in his presence, and this feeling, instead of 
diminishing, daily increased. He habitually kept me, and 
indeed all of us, at a distance. It had never chanced that he 
had caressed me in private, as my mother would do, though 
more than once — on the day of the distribution of prizes, for 
instance — he had embraced me in public. When I say he 
had embraced me, I use a figure of speech ; I ought to say he 
had offered me his cheek to kiss. It was a strictly exacted 
custom that all his children, on entering his presence, should 
kiss his hand, and address him in the third person, the most 
deferential mode of speaking in Italian. 

My father told me that now I had had plenty of idleness, 
and that it was high time to put an end to this way of going 
on ; that I must work ; that he should never consent to my 
going into commerce ; that he left me the choice between 
medicine and law ; that, for the one as well as for the other, it 
was indispensable to go through the class of philosophy ; that 
the university being closed, he saw only two establishments 
in which I could — as a day-scholar of course — attend the 
lectures on philosophy during the two required years, that is, 
either the Royal college or the seminary (the name given to 
an establishment for the education more particularly of young 
people destined to the church), that, as for him, he would 
recommend the college, but he left me the choice. 


A CHOICE OF EVILS. 


Ill 


Now. this was leaving me a choice of evils. To go to the 
Royal college as a day-scholar Avas literally impossible. “Why 
so ?” you will say. You may try a hundred or a thousand 
times without guessing right. My father, as I have men- 
tioned, had insisted that the coat in Avhich I had left school, 
and which, with a little alteration, was a good one, should be 
my every-day wear. Now, for one who had left school to ap- 
pear in public with the ex-uniform somewhat new-fashioned, 
was the very lowest degree of disgrace ; and to show myself 
every day among my late companions in that unhappy pre- 
dicament, Avould have been to expose myself wantonly to a 
life of ridicule and humiliation, of which I knew too well the 
bitterness to have any wish to taste it. So the Royal college 
was out of the question. 

The seminary also had its inconveniences. There existed 
in Genoa three establishments for the education of youth, the 
Royal college, the seminary, and the Royal Naval college. 
Now, be it said to the credit of human fraternity, each of these 
establishments cordially detested, and was in flagrant hostility 
with each of its rivals, and each pupil of each establishment 
had a spite against, and Avas at open warfare with, all and 
every one of the pupils of the two others ; and many a time 
had I chanced, while at school, to exchange with my brethren 
of the Naval college or of the Seminary, an unseen thump 
with the fist, or a poke with the shoulder in a church, or an 
insulting gesture in the street ; so that I ran the risk of meet- 
ing in the seminary with some old antagonist, and of being 
forced to continue a struggle I would just as soon have dropped. 
However this might he, my choice between a certain and an 
uncertain evil could not he doubtful ; my option, therefore, 
was for the seminary, and I wrote immediately to acquaint 
Alfred with my determination. A feAv days later, Alfred 
returned, bringing with him to my great joy, the consent of 
his father to his going through his class of philosophy at the 
seminary. 

• My new duties were far from hurthensome. The lectures 
began at ten o’clock in the morning, and ended at one in the 
afternoon. I had all the rest of the day to myself, except on 


112 


LORENZO BKNONI. 


Monday and Thursday, when, from four to six in the afternoon, 
I attended a lecture on ethics. I had little communication 
with my new companions, who took little notice of me. Al- 
fred’s company was all that I wanted, and we were together 
from morning to night. We used, in the afternoon, to take 
long walks, or to go boating when it was very fine, and we 
would then chat endlessly about our future prospects, planning 
to remain inseparable all our lives. 

A dark point, however, soon appeared on my horizon, under 
the form of a great seminarist, twice as big as myself, who, as 
it seems, had not been long in recognising me, and whom, on 
my part, I knew well long before. This fellow began to cast 
certain looks of bravado at me, which I chose not to perceive. 
The looks were soon followed by rude jests, and even direct 
insults. One morning, when I was quite off my guard, he 
shouldered me so violently as he passed, that he all but threw 
me to the ground. Of course I resented this proceeding, and 
a quarrel in due form ensued. From that moment such a 
system of incessant hostilities was entered upon by my big 
adversary, as to embitter my life. One day he made me the 
laughing-stock of the whole school, by fastening a long paper 
tail behind my back. I was in a rage, and swore to make him 
pay for this out of class ; but I sought him in vain, and so I 
went home fretting and fuming, and forming projects of revenge. 

Since my return to town I had resumed my reading, and at 
this moment my book was the Life of the Blessed Fra Martino 
of Lisbon, which interested me very much. Fra Martino was 
a saint, and, as such, performed most wonderful feats. He 
was, for instance, at one and the same time, in China convert- 
ing idolaters, and in Lisbon attending on his dying mother. 
As I went on reading that day, I happened to fall upon a 
passage which struck me forcibly, from its perfect reference 
and applicability to my own case. Poor Fra Martino, when 
very young at school, had a little scoundrel of a companion, 
who jeered, worried, beat, and ill-used him in every possible 
manner. Good Fra Martino did not lose patience, entertained 
no resentment, thought not of taking revenge ; but, by dint 
of forbearance, gentleness, and submission, touched and edified 


FRA Martino’s recipe. 


113 


Ins young persecutor to sucli a degree, that he soon became 
Fra Martino’s friend and admirer, and ultimately a great saint. 

For some time past I had been in a mood of religious enthu- 
siasm, and I asked myself whether this passage, which so 
clearly pointed out the method I ought to follow with my 
seminarist, was not a warning from God. To make a saint of 
one’s persecutor, what a noble vengeance ! To become a saint 
myself, to go to China, and face martyrdom, like Fra Martino ! 
My imagination was set working in that direction, and I de- 
termined to try St. Martino’s method. 


114 


LORENZO BENONT 


CHAPTER XIV. 

RELIGIOUS ENTHUSIASM PROJECTS OF MARTYRDOM ADJOURNED 

— THINGS COME TO A CRISIS WITH MY BIG PERSECUIOR. 

An opportunity soon offered. One day, as we were entering 
the lecture room, I received a good thump on the head from 
my adversary. My first impulse was to return it, but I refrained 
in time. “ Sir,” said I, “ you may do with me as you please ; 
I accept it all in penance for my sins, and I love and bless 
you.” At the first moment my speech seemed to make some 
impression on my big foe, but this passed away immediately, 
and he replied jeeringly, “ Come, come, this is a good joke 
enough, but tell the truth — you are afraid.” To which I an- 
swered in a very humble tone, “Yes, I am afraid, I allow, 
greatly afraid of offending God.” 

As chance would have it, and I purposely say chance, for 
several days afterward my persecutor left me in peace. Natu- 
rally, I did not fail to attribute this to the efficaciousness of 
Fra Martino’s recipe, and my religious fervor was the more 
increased. I attended several masses every day, and prayed 
frequently at home, and still more frequently in the street. Yes, 
in the street ! The confessor whom I had at college, had made 
me a present of what lie called a treasure, namely a short 
prayer, which he told me the Holy Virgin herself had deliv- 
ered into the hands of St. Bernardo, with the assurance that 
he who should repeat the sacred words whenever he might 
meet an image of the blessed Mary, would be sure of saving 
his soul. In my fit of devotion, I bethought me of this mirac- 
ulous prayer, which lay buried among my papers. I looked 
for it, found it, learned it by heart, and would repeat it in the 


THE AVK MARIA. 


115 


street before each image of the virgin that I passed. Now, 
as there is in Genoa, as everybody knows, a madonna at 
every corner, I beg the reader to believe that this was rather 
hard work. 

One afternoon while I was in this disposition of mind, Alfred 
and I went out to take a long walk among the heights that 
crown Genoa. Our excursion had proved longer and more 
fatiguing than we expected ; so, before coming down, we 
stopped to rest, and to enjoy the scene before us. The sun 
was setting, and as his rosy beams, fast retreating, left hill 
after hill, and mountain after mountain, they seemed to acquire 
a soft mellowness of tint, expressive of regret and melancholy. 
Gradually a dark gray mist overspread the valley beneath, and 
the bright transparency of the sea faded away by slow de- 
grees, and was lost in one uniform leaden color. There was in 
the air that stillness and repose which characterize even-tide 
when verging toward night. The silvery tinkling of the sheep- 
bell of belated flocks, and the distant hail from boats far off, 
at intervals faintly broke upon the silence. 

Suddenly the tolling of a bell ringing the Ave Maria rose 
from a church almost at our feet. It was the church of St. 
Barnabas, to which is annexed a very small convent belonging 
to the capuchin friars, and where young men who destine them- 
selves to that order pass the time of their noviciate. This 
convent stands perfectly alone on the slope of a barren hill, at 
all times of a strikingly desolate aspect, but more especially 
so toward the dusk of evening. We went into the church, 
which was quite dark, except in one part of the choir, which 
was feebly lighted by a lamp. Half a dozen capuchin novices 
were kneeling on the stone pavement, chanting psalms. From 
time to time some one of them would raise his head toward the 
image of our Savior upon the altar, and disclose to view 
features emaciated by prayer and fasting. The tolling of the 
bell, the solitude, the hour, had thrown me into a mood of 
vague and melancholy revery : the scene in the interior of the 
church, like a sudden revelation, gave a determinate character 
to the undefined aspirations swelling in my breast, and moulded 
them into an actual purpose. An inward voice seemed to say. 


116 


LORENZO BENONI. 


“ Here is what thou seekest !” I prayed long and fervently, 
and went out of the church with the firm conviction that God 
had called me to serve him in solitude and prayer. 

^ I opened my mind forthwith to Alfred, and proposed, without 
circumlocution, that he should become a capuchin along with 
me. Alfred, who was far from being worked up to my pitch 
of enthusiasm, was much startled at first, but as the idea of 
our ever separating could not enter his mind, he answered, 
that if I seriously determined to take the vows, he would un- 
doubtedly follow my example. 

At midnight, when from my room I heard the bell of St. 
Barnabas ring matins, I rose to prayer ; and how long after- 
ward I can not tell, I awoke with my head resting against a 
chair, and my whole body frozen with cold. 

My vocation appearing to me sufficiently determined to war- 
rant me to talk it over with my confessor, I went to him next 
day, and related in full detail how and when the disposition 
to a religious life had first sprung up within me, and under 
what circumstances it had become strengthened and assumed 
the character of a positive calling. The priest encouraged me 
to persevere, and more than hinted that out of cloistral life, 
salvation was hardly possible, amid the dangers and tempta- 
tions of the world. “You are too young,” continued he, “to 
take the vo^s, but not too young to prepare yourself for doing 
so. Test the sincerity of your vocation by some severe trial, 
impose each day some voluntary privation upon yourself to 
mortify the flesh, and above all pray, pray incessantly !” 

I was perfectly satisfied, and from that day forward looked 
upon myself as devoted to the cloister. I mortified the flesh 
by eating as little as possible and abstaining from all that 
could please my palate, especially fruit, which I liked much. 
I heard as many masses as I could possibly crowd together, 
and regularly rose and went to prayers at midnight. To make 
sure of waking at the proper time, I used to tie a pack-thread 
to one of my wrists, at the other end of which hung a leaden 
weight, scarcely touching the bottom of a basin placed on the 
floor ; so that my slightest motion had its echo in the basin, 
and excluded all possibility of sound sleep. 


I MORTIFY TITE FLFSII. 


117 


But this was not sufficient to satisfy my ardor for penance. 
I longed to have a hair-shirt ; but it is not every one who can 
procure such a thing. I tried, in imitation of Fra Martino, to 
flagellate myself, and for this purpose I got hold of a whip of 
leather thongs used in dusting clothes, but somehow or other 
I never could contrive to inflict upon myself any real pain. 
For want of something better, I put sand into my boots and 
filled my bed with crumbs of dry bread, which certainly Avere 
excessively disagreeable. At last, considering myself suffi- 
ciently prepared, I imparted one morning to mj^ mother my 
irrevocable resolution of giving myself to God, and of taking 
the habit of a capuchin as soon as possible. 

I expected a scene of cries, and tears, and had excited my 
imagination with the idea of the strength of mind necessary 
to overcome the opposition of a mother I adored. Nothing of 
the kind. My mother did not look shocked at my confidential 
communication ; if she felt so, poor soul ! she managed to con- 
ceal it pretty well. She only observed that nothing should be 
done precipitately in so serious a matter, and that I had better 
consult Uncle John, to which I willingly agreed. Now, it 
happened on this very morning (how lucky !) my mother met 
Uncle John in the street, who, on hearing that I wished to con- 
sult him on a matter of some consequence, sent me an invita- 
tion to come and dine with him next day, precisely at two 
o’clock, military time — only, of course, if my father had no 
objection, which, happily, he had not. 

Uncle John and I had by this time become very good 
friends. To my credit, be it said, his rather blunt reception 
on the day of my first visit had not estranged me from him. 
The first smart over, I had soon found that my uncle was 
right, that is, that my foppish airs made me ridiculous and 
that my verses were sonorous emptiness. So that, instead of 
owing him a grudge, I felt the value of his frankness, and told 
him so. He was touched by my ingenuousness, and hailed 
witl great glee what he called my return to good sense. From 
that time a sort of intimacy, as far as our difference of age 
would permit, was established between us. I used to go to 
see him regularly twice a week, and he would lay aside any 


118 


LORENZO BENONI. 


business, however pressing, to have a little chat with me 
Being first partner in a large banking firm, he was very busy 
till two o’clock, his dinner hour. 

In spite of this sort of intimacy, now of more than six months’ 
standing, all that I knew of Uncle John was, that he had left 
his country when very young, travelled over all the world, and 
realized a considerable fortune in commerce ; that at forty 
he had returned, and never left home since : that his turn of 
mind was very original, and his tone often caustic : that he 
was very kind to individuals, and very harsh toward mankind 
at large, upon whom he looked with mingled feelings of pity 
and distrust. His life — as far as I could conjecture, for both 
he and my mother, who knew all about it, were on this point 
invincibly discreet — must have been one of trial and disap- 
pointment. 

He spoke seldom, and as it were by showers. Sometimes 
there was no stopping him. When he was vexed, he would 
bite his nails. The person he loved and respected most in the 
world was my mother, whom he came to see very regularly, 
but always at the hours when he knew my father was from 
home. The two brothers-in-law rarely or never met, except 
on certain formal occasions, such as my mother’s birthday, 
when Uncle John came to dine at my father’s house, or on my 
Uncle’s John’s birthday, when we all went to dine at his. 

On the morrow, then, having achieved a modest toilet 
(pomatum, whalebone switch, and coxcombical airs, had long 
been put aside, huge coat collars had been lowered, and puffy 
pantaloons straightened), at a quarter to two I set out for my 
uncle’s house. 

Uncle John’s style of living was, like that of the greater 
number of the burghers of Genoa at that time, simple, and 
even parsimonious. The house in which he lived was situated 
in a narrow dirty street, as most of the Genoese streets are. 
It was choked up in front by another mansion rising just before 
it at the distance of a few feet, and at the back overlooked a 
filthy yard. In buying this house, some twenty years before, 
my uncle had been determined by the single consideration, 
that it was not above five minutes’ walk from Banchi, and that 


HABITS OF UNCLE JOHN. 


119 


it was sure to let. As to air, open space, or light, he had 
thought no more about them than if things of the kind had 
never existed. Air, light, and prospect, were superfluities ; if 
you could have them into the bargain, so much the better, if 
not, you did just as well without. 

The suite of apartments which my uncle occupied on the 
second floor — the other stories were let — was spacious and 
lofty, but dark, and looked empty and cold. It was, however, 
be it said to its credit, deliciously cool in hot weather. The 
walls were whitewashed, and their nakedness was rather set 
off to advantage, than concealed, by the half-dozen or so of old 
family portraits that hung here and there. Thinly scattered 
through the apartments, at a great distance from each other, 
there stood a few old-fashioned, heavy, dark pieces of furni- 
ture, looking so lonely in their' corners as to make one feel 
sorry for them. An ancient Venetian mirror, six feet in height, 
a dozen old chairs covered with faded yellow velvet, and an 
enormous clock in tortoise-shell of exquisite workmanship, con- 
stituted all the luxury of the drawing-room. But the walls of 
this drawing-room, which was very large and lofty, .were, by 
a happy exception, filled to an inch by pictures of the best 
Italian masters. No arm-chairs, no sofas, no carpets, no lamps, 
nothing of all that contributes to comfort. Uncle John did 
not feel the want of it, or rather, was not aware that there was 
such a thing in the world. He had, in common with most of 
his countrymen, a strong prejudice against fire, which he de- 
clared to be very injurious to health, and the only chimney 
that existed in his apartment had been, accordingly, walled 
up. His only precaution against the cold, sometimes intense, 
consisted in rubbing his hands, or, in extreme cases, in going 
out to walk. 

His meals were of patriarchal simplicity. A cup of coffee 
for breakfast. For dinner, soup, most frequently the national 
minestra asciutta (that is, a pottage of macaroni or other Ital- 
ian paste, boiled for a short time, then drained dry, and sea- 
soned with gravy and parmesan cheese), a dish of meat or fish, 
a salad, and fruit or cheese. For supper, a dish of boiled 
vegetables, with oil and vinegar, and nothing more. Such 


120 


LORENZO B?:N0NT. 


was the fare, from which he never deviated, but which he im- 
posed on no one else, for his guests — when he had any, a thing 
of rare occurrence — always found an excellent table at his 
house. And on state occasions, such as his own birthday for 
instance. Uncle John would give us a truly princely dinner, 
both as to the profusion of choice dishes and wines, and as to 
the luxuries of linen, china, and plate. 

“True to his time, as an accepted hill,”. said Uncle John, 
who was punctuality itself, rising to shake hands, “ there’s a 
jewel of a boy. One minute thirty-seven seconds to two.” 
The neighboring clock of Banchi struck two as he finished the 
words. “Never mind what that old fool jingles,” added he 
contemptuously ; “ my swarthy friend there (with a look of 
pride at the tortoise-shell clock) never cheated me of a sec- 
ond ! Marta, Marta,” calling aloud to the old cook, “ don’t 
be in a hurry, you have a full minute and a half.” The min- 
ute and a half was soon gone, soup was served, and we sat 
down to dinner. 

It was the first time I had dined alone with my uncle, I 
had an important communication to make, and I did not know 
whether I was to enter upon the subject at once, or wait an 
inviting hint to begin. All this disturbed me, and made me a 
little nervous. ** Age quod agis,''^ said Uncle John, who per- 
ceived my embarrassment, “ which means, freely translated, 
attend to your dinner, and think of nothing else. Business 
shall come with the dessert.” Uncle John was talkative and 
full of humor, and the dinner went off capitally. In due time 
fruit and cheese were served ; Marta was directed to bring one 
of the bottles of a certain shape, ranged in a certain corner of 
the cellar, and then dismissed. My uncle uncorked the bottle 
and filled two glasses : “ Lachryma Christi, my boy, true Lach- 
ryma Christi. Tell me if you like it better than the Malaga 
of the reverend fathers. Here is success to your wishes !” So 
saying, he tossed off his glass at once, and I, on my part, did 
the same. “Now to business,” added Uncle John, smacking 
his lips ; “ I am ready to listen to you.” 

And he did listen in fact with due gravity to my long farago 
about Fra Martino, and martyrdom, and China, and Japan, 


CAPUCHIN OH MISSIONARY. 


121 


and so fortli. When I entered upon the particulars of the 
scene which had decided my vocation, in the church of St. 
Barnabas, and described the woriiout features of the young 
novices, I traced in my uncle’s countenance symptoms of deep 
emotion. I was in earnest ; and I spoke long, and from the 
heart. My kind listener never attempted the least interrup- 
tion, and, when I had done speaking, filled the glasses again 
in silence — motioned me to drink — drank himself — and then 
said: — 

“First of all, my dear boy — and whatever your confessor 
may say to the contrary — let me tell you at once, that a man 
may work his salvation very well in the world, where, believe 
me, there are fools and knaves enough, and trials and disap- 
pointments in sufficient plenty, to worry him to death, and 
make a saint of him. This premised, to satisfy my conscience, 
I hasten to add that I have no objection whatever to monas- 
tic life; only I could wish you had chosen any other order 
than capuchins.” 

“ How so ?” asked I eagerly. 

“ They are so nasty and so full of vermin,” rejoined my uncle. 

“ Is it possible ?” said I. 

“ It is a fact, my boy. Be it from humility, or carelessness, 
be it owing to their woollen dress, or to their having their 
clothes in common, or to their wearing no linen at all, or to 
all these causes combined, capuchins are a sadly filthy set.” 

I felt the full force of the objection. I was a boy of natu- 
rally cleanly habits, and capuchins from this moment sunk 
considerably in my estimation. 

“As for me,” continued Uncle John, “if I were you — that 
is to say, if I were young as you are, and had the calling you 
seem to have — I confess that, to the certainly meritorious but 
somewhat monotonous existence of a capuchin, I should vastly 
prefer the active life of a missionary among the heathen, with 
its far-distant travels, its stirring emotions by sea and land, its 
toils, its hardships, and incessant dangers.” 

“ Why, uncle,” replied I, “ it is just such a life as you de- 
scribe that I am contemplating. Did I not tell you about Fra 

Martino, martyrdom, and ” 

6 


122 


LORKNZO BENONI. 


“ But did you not also talk of beomiug a capuchin 

“Yes,” faltered I, “ but ” 

“ But capuchins don’t go on foreign missions. My dear fel- 
low, when we mean to do a thing, we ought at least to know 
what we do mean. Now, is it a capuchin, or is it a missionary, 
you intend to become 1 Which of the two V' 

“ A missionary to be sure,” answered I. 

“ Quite right,” replied my uncle, and he began to speak 
about the vocation of a missionary so feelingly, that I expect- 
ed every moment he would propose accompanying me to China 
or Japan. 

“ And what plan would you advise for me, uncle ?” asked I 
when he had finished. 

“ The most simple one, my boy. A man can not become 
qualified for an apostle in four-and-twenty hours. You must 
be pretty well grounded in theology to convert mxandarins, and 
you can not preach to them in Italian. Theology and Chi- 
nese, then, are indispensable requisites. But you can not be 
admitted to the study of theology until you have gone through 
your class of philosophy. So this is the course I advise ; finish 
quietly your philosophy, and attend especially to logic, for 
you will have great need of it. After your philosophy, if you 
still persist in your ardor for martyrdom, why, you may begin 
your theology here, or if you prefer setting to theology and 
Chinese at the same time, we may send you to Rome, where 
there is the college de Propaganda Fide, established precisely 
for such studies. Chinese, I am told, is a tolerably compli- 
cated language, so you must not be in a hurry, my boy. Let 
me see : you are now not quite fifteen ; if you receive martyr- 
dom at twenty, it will not be too late, I think.” 

I was not quite sure whether there was not a touch of rail- 
lery in these last words. The suspicion crossed me for a mo- 
ment ; but, perceiving that my uncle spoke in a tone of perfect 
good faith, and that no muscle in his face moved, I took it for 
granted he was in earnest. 

Another thing I am not quite sure of is, whether the two 
glasses of Lachryma Christi I had drunk, did not contribute, 
in some small degree, toward my abandoning so easily my 


SCALD-HEAD. 


123 


eapiicliin scheme; they had such an odd effect upon me — a 
worldly effect, if I dare so to speak ; they colored all things 
in my eyes with a rosy tint, which rendered by contrast the 
cell of a convent so gloomy, so desolate, so cold ! 

Be that as it may, my uncle’s reasoning appeared to me un- 
answerable ; so I gave up my plan of becoming a capuchin, and 
centred all my mental activity on the project of foreign mis- 
sions. 

Never during my fit of religious fever had I departed from 
my system of meekness and submission toward my antagonist 
in the seminary, who on his part had very soon put an end to 
the truce he had afforded me, and for which I had given him 
credit, as I mentioned a short while back. One morning 
among others, a few days after my conversation with my uncle, 
I was talking to some of the young pupils, holding my hands 
behind my hack, when suddenly I received on the right hand 
a blow with a ruler most vigorously dealt. The pain was in- 
tense, and really went to my heart. Forgetting all my reso- 
lutions of forbearance, I threw myself upon my enemy in a fit 
of rage, and made a snatch at his hair, when lo ! an enormous 
wig remained in my hand, and left bare a closely-shaven head. 
Fancy how the laugh was on my side ! The fellow, exasper- 
ated to fury, turned upon me. At that instant I remembered 
Sforza. I drew my penknife, and, throwing myself forward, 
I cried, “ Come on, if you dare !” He did not dare. This 
skirmish had a double result : it delivered me for ever from 
the attacks of my antagonist, and gained for him the nick- 
name of “ Scald-head,” which he never afterward lost. 


124 : 


LORENZO BENONI. 


CHAPTER XV. 

MY BROTHER CJESAR STEPS IN AND TAKES THE LEAD FREAKS 

AND FANCIES. 

Months arid months slipped by, and my vocation became 
from day to day more problematical, till the return of my 
brother Caesar gave it its death-blow. Nearly a twelvemonth 
spent in the country had not only recovered him from the 
effects of his illness, but had made him a stout, robust lad. 

We were very near in age, and very similar in tastes. We 
had both the same adventurous and romantic turn of mirid, 
and we carried equally deep jiassion into all things. We soon 
became great friends, and really inseparable. Caesar was a 
fine little fellow, rather shorter, but stronger and squarer, than 
I was. He had, besides, another great advantage over me (he 
who had left school time out of mind), I mean a great deal of 
experience of the world in which he had moved so long. For 
instance, he knew how to play billiards, and could smoke. I 
never thought of contesting his superiority for a moment, and 
he became leader in all things. Great was his taste in dress, 
to my notion, and the tie of his cravat in particular excited 
my admiration. He did not much approve of the cut of my 
clothes, and found great fault with the shape of my hat. He 
even one evening heated an iron, with which he contrived to 
flatten the brim, giving it a more becoming shape. 

Osesar had plenty of friends who lent him books, which in 
his turn he lent to me ; but more frequently we read them to- 
gether. Then we would talk over them, and identify ourselves 
with the characters portrayed, and so live in an imaginary 
world. Our plans for the future took _their tone from our 


ICARUS REDIVIVUS. 


125 


reading. Sometimes Caesar would be a general, and Alfred and 
I liis aide-de-camps. At other times he took a fancy for the sea, 
and would be captain of a noble vessel, and I the surgeon on 
board; but as I felt no call for operating on living arms and 
legs, I gave up the appointment to Alfred, and contented my- 
self with the office of lieutenant. We were to go round the 
world. It was still China and Japan, with the omission of 
martyrdom, which I had completely renounced. Our mother 
was to come with us. In our day-dreams for the future our 
mother always had her place. 

The “ Adventures of a Flying Man,” which we read with 
delight, inspired my brother with the bright idea of making 
wings for ourselves. “We shall never be able to manage it,” 
said I to Caesar. “ You’ll see,” answered he with a knowing 
look. So we bought all the materials necessary for framing 
wings, such as very thin laths, pasteboard, paper of every 
description, pack-thread, nails, paste, etc., etc. ; but when we 
tried to put these things to proof, the tower of Babel itself was 
not more hopeless. We could not get on at all; still Caesar, 
who had staked his reputation on the success of the enterprise, 
would not give it up. Fortunately, an unforeseen incident 
came to afford him a pretext for retiring from the undertaking 
without any great loss of honor. 

We possessed some little savings between ns, which with 
infinite pains we had changed into very small coin, all new 
and bright, bearing the effigy of Maria Louisa, duchess of 
Parma, worth about twopence halfpenny each. We used to 
hide this treasure in all sorts of corners, and often changed 
the hiding-places — as if any one was likely to steal it ! One 
day we took it into our heads to bury it. There was on the 
terrace of our house a very narrow flower-bed, in which we 
made a hole and put our coins into it. In the night came a 
pouring rain, which washed away a . large portion of the mould, 
and the greater part of our treasure. What was our conster- 
nation in the morning — especially Csesar’s, who had discovered, 
in the course of that very night, that wc must have a great 
quantity of oiled silk to make our wings ! but what could be 


126 


LOKEXZO BENOin. 


done without funds ? So for want of money we were obliged 
to go without Avings. 

One day Caesar brought home the Arabian Nights. We 
read them day and night. Visions of califs, princesses, 
golden palaces, subterraneous caverns, heaps of diamonds, etc. 
etc., floated around us, and turned our heads. We talked of 
nothing else. We lived so entirely in this fantastic world that 
we altogether lost sight of the limits that separate fiction 
from reality. For my part, I declare I did not in the least 
despair of discovering some day a trapdoor, leading to an 
underground place full of diamonds as big as eggs, and in 
which there should be a captive princess. I must have a 
princess, for as to the women I saw every day, they were so 
far from the ideal picture I had painted for myself that I 
would not have lifted my little finger to obtain the most beau- 
tiful of them all. By dint of singing of Nice’s and Amarillis’s 
golden hair and coral lips, I had ended by taking the thing 
literally, and I stuck to it. On this point Ciesar was greatly 
at variance with me, and often expressed an admiration for 
persons of the fair sex, which I felt quite sorry not to be able 
to partake, or even to understand. Poor Alfred, who was 
entirely devoid of imagination, would stare at us, like a man 
in a dream, when he heard us talking of subterraneous cham- 
bers, princesses and enchanted palaces, as of so many articles 
of faith. 

Once I positively thought I had fallen on the track of the 
long-dreamed-of subterraneous abode. In one of our walks 
very far out of town, we sat down under the shade of a 
bastion, which formed part of an old fortification. In this 
wall, decayed by time, there was a hole larger than the rest, 
choked up with stones and brambles. I forced my way 
through the brambles, and began to clear away the stones 
that filled the mouth of the opening. In so doing I put my 
hand upon the neck of a broken bottle, in which there Avas an 
awl A meager treasure indeed ! But presently I discoA’ered 
the neck of another bottle, and lo ! there was within two mag- 
nificent oriental pearls ! I instantly called to Csesar and to 
Alfred. Caesar’s, imagination took fire at the sight. He de* 


A GODDESS. 


127 


PENNY PEAPvL:. — 

dared that these pearls could not ho there alone; that we 
must make further clearance, and who could tell what wonders 
might await us. So we cleared and cleared till there remained 
no more stones, and we came to the solid rock. Had it not 
been for this provoking rock, the subterraneous halls had been 
found that very day. We talked of blasting it with powder. 
As soon as we returned into the town we went to our family 
jeweller, to have our treasure estimated. The pearls were 
imitation ones, and were worth about one penny each ! This 
estimate cooled our enthusiasm a little ; nevertheless, we re- 
turned many a time to the bastion, which we explored in every 
direction, but, alas ! without success. 

One evening, when we were on the terrace enjoying the cool 
breeze and soft moonlight, Csesar confided to me, under the 
most solemn promise of secrecy, that he sometimes went to see 
a friend in a certain house that I knew, opposite to which 
lived a young lady, according to my brother’s textual expres- 
sion, “ beautiful as the sun.” As this young lady came upon 
her terrace every evening to water her flowers, Caesar had 
been able, from his friend’s window, to contemplate and admire 
her at leisure. The consequence of the said contemplation 
and admiration had been, that he had fallen in love with the 
beauty in question. “ If you will come with me some even- 
ing,” added Csesar, “ I will take you to my friend’s, and then 
you can see her, and tell me what you think of her.” I did 
not much care to see her; but, as I perceived that my brother 
wished it very much, I agreed to go. So one evening we 
went, and took our stations at the window, waiting for the 
apparition of the goddess. 

I felt, I know not why, but ill at ease, and would have 
given anything that she should not make her appearance. In 
fact, she delayed so long, that I left the window, and seated 
myself on a chair at the other end of the room. Almost at 
the same instant Csesar whispered, “There! she has come!” 
I had a mind to rise, but somehow I could not. I seemed 
rooted to my chair ; some unknown power held me fast. I 
made half a dozen excuses, each more stupid than the other, 
for not stirring. My brother and his friend laughed at me, and 


128 


LORENZO BENONT. 


said I was afraid. “ There, now she’s going away !” These 
words restored all my courage. I went to the window, and 
assumed the air of being greatly provoked that she did not 
come back, trembling all the time lest she should. At last I 
retired again, saying, she would certainly not return. She 
came hack, then went away again, and once more returned, 
without my being able to overcome that mysterious force which 
prevented me from stirring so long as she was there. 

When we got home, Cjcsar talked to me of nothing but his 
love, and in a fit of amoroiTS enthusiasm, took his pen-knife, 
and began to tattoo his left arm wnth the initial of the adored 
name, “ Emily.” I asked him if he had any objection to my 
doing the same, and as he expressed none, I set about per- 
forming the like operation, which consisted in taking off the 
skin in the shape, or nearly so, of an E, and then throv/ing 
ink upon the mark to cauterize it, so as to render it indelible. 
From that day forward we always spoke of Emily as of our 
common flame, and I persuaded myself, with the gi*eatest ease 
in the world, that I was over head and ears in love ; but, as 
for going to see her, my brother never could bring me to that. 

“ If you like,” said I one day, “ we will go and give her a 
serenade.” Osesar played the violin a little, and I learned 
to accompany him on the guitar. We thought this a bright 
idea. 

Having learned two or three airs by heart, we fixed on an 
evening for the execution of our project, which, however, had 
its difficulties. It was a strict regulation in our household 
that each member of it should be at home at nine o’clock, 
the supper hour ; and in my father’s eyes, absence from, or 
even delay in appearing at the regular meals, was a crime of 
leze-famille. After supper, our father himself bolted the house- 
door, from Avhich his bed-room was not far removed ; so it was 
no easy matter to open it without being heard. But what will 
not youth, fancying itself in love, achieve ? By dint of oil 
and patience, and thanks to our eldest brother, our accomplice, 
who was to close the door after us, and push back the bolts, ^ 
we managed to set out on our expedition. But to return 
before morning was quite out of the question, for we could not 


PLATONIC PASSION. 


120 


venture, for fear of discovery, to leave the door on the latch. 
So we went, and played the music we had practised under the 
windows of the sleeping beauty ; but the said beauty slept 
very soundly, or was very insensible, for she gave no sign of 
life. We afterward serenaded under Alfred’s window, and 
then walked about a long time, till we went and sat down 
upon a bench in the Acquasola. The night seemed endless. 
At last, worn out with want of sleep, we made our way home, 
and sat down upon the staircase (the street-door generally 
remains open during the night in Italy, and the staircase is 
common to all the inhabitants of the house) ; and there we 
waited till old Caterina, our servant, should come out, early in 
the morning, according to her wont. 

These various unpleasant circumstances did not deter us 
from attempting more than once the same enterprise. The 
second time we were not more successful than the first. The 
third — oh, joy! — a window opened, and a white drapery 
appeared. “ ’Tis she I” We began with wonderful spirit our 
best piece, and were playing most melodiously, when our ardor 
was suddenly cooled by a shower of water, every drop of which, 
as it fell upon a new hat, pierced me to the heart. So ended 
my first love, and truly, if ever there was a platonic passion, 
it was this of mine, the object of which I had never beheld. I 
saw her for the first time thirty years later, when the fair and 
slender girl of seventeen had grown into a plump, pleasant- 
faced lady, with gray hair, who little suspected that the bald- 
headed, middle-aged gentleman who then addressed her still 
bore on his left arm the half-effaced initial of her name 1 

In the midst of such like occupations slipped away the two 
years of philosophy. If I cast the account of what I had 
acquired in all this time, the balance is not very brilliant, and 
I have no great reason to be proud. I learned to play on the 
guitar, to play at billiards, to smoke, (Heaven knows at the 
cost of what discomfort 1) and to dance. To say truth, my 
first and last attempt in this very important branch of educa- 
tion, was far from encouraging. It was in a little dance, 
made up at once without preparation or ceremony in the 
country. There were a few young men, and several young 

6 * 


130 


LORENZO BENONI. 


ladies. The consciousness of my inexperience made me hold 
hack ; but one of the girls pursued me into the corner to which 
I had retreated, and would insist upon my dancing with her, 
which she soon had cause to rue ; for, after a turn or two in 
a waltz, {liorresco referens ! ) I trode upon her foot so heavily, 
that she almost fainted. I was so angry with myself for 
my awkwardness, that I swore upon the swollen foot of my 
luckless partner to give up dancing for ever, and I have kept 
my word. 

In spite of my little application, the examinations which I 
had to undergo at the end of the two years passed off extreme- 
ly well, thanks to a month’s study, which Alfred and I dashed 
through, like an express train at full speed. Alfred, too, got 
off very well. After this, we were obliged to separate, Alfred 
going to pass his holydays with his family, who resided in a 
little town of Piedmont. As for me, I spent them at my 
mother’s country-house, where Caesar, who was an accomplished 
sportsman, initiated me into the management of a gun. I 
grew passionately fond of sporting, and the three months’ 
leisure passed like lightning. 

At the beginning of the scholastic year, my father returned 
to the alternative he had already placed before me — law or 
physic. I had little inclination for the profession of an advo- 
cate, but I had a great aversion to that of a physician ; so I 
chose the former, to the great satisfaction of my father, who, 
being a lawyer himself, and having made a lawyer of his eldest 
son, seemed to think that there could not be too many of the 
calling in the family. “ You must go and have your name 
put on the books of the university,” said my father, “ and in- 
quire at the same time, the forms you must go through to be 
received as student.” So I set about it forthwith. 


SARDINIAN KliVOLUTION. 


Vdi 


CHAPTER XVL 

THE UNIVERSITY ; MY WORLD OF FANCY CRUMBLES BEFORE SAD 
REALITIES. 

As everybody knows, in the year 1821 an insurrection broke 
out in the Sardinian states, and the Spanish constitution, pro- 
claimed by the joint acclamations of the army and the people 
in Turin, Genoa, Alexandria, etc. etc, became the fundamental 
law of the state. But the triumph of constitutional liberty 
was short-lived. Austria intervened as usual, and her easy 
victory at Novara replaced matters on their former footing, 
that is to say, restored pure and entire despotism. 

The first care of the restored government was, of course, to 
pursue the persons implicated in the late rebellion, as it was 
called, and to have them tried, sentenced, and hanged ; most 
of them, thank God, in effigy, for almost all those who had 
taken any considerable part in the brief constitutional drama, 
had been able to effect their escape abroad. The trials and 
condemnations just mentioned had passed by default, and did. 
no injury except to figures stuffed with straw; but far different 
was the fate of a small number, who, trusting either to the royal 
clemency, or to the slightness of their participation in the 
insurrection, had remained at home. They were prosecuted, 
and unmercifully condemned, some to death, the rest to the 
galleys or long imprisonment, and the sentences were carried 
through without remission. 

It is hardly necessary to say, that the youth in the univer- 
sities had been among the foremost in taking part in the 
revolution ; and at Turin especially, it was a handful of stu- 
dents — to their honor be it said — seconded by a company of 


132 


LORENZO BKNONT. 


soldiers, who had determined the movement in the capital. 
When the reverse of fortune came it had fared with the stu- 
dents as with the other classes of citizens, that is, those among 
them "who had not escaped abroad, had been individually 
prosecuted and condemned; but this had not yet satisfied the 
resentment of the government. The students in general had 
shown what, in the style of the da y , was called the Avorst 
spirit ; so, to strike at them in a body, the universities of Turin 
and Genoa were closed. 

This state of things could not last for ever. There are 
absurdities before which a government, let it be absurd as it 
may, recoils. The interests of too many families Avere affected 
by the prolongation of a measure Avhich shut every liberal 
profession against the rising generation. It became necessary 
after a time to think of doing aAvay Avith this interdict. The 
gOA^ernment appointed a commission for the reform of public 
instruction throughout the kingdom. This was a first step 
tOAvard the re-opening of the uniA^ersities. It is almost super- 
fluous to add, that the choice of the members by gOAmrnment 
fell upon men after its own heart; that is to say, that those 
charged Avuth the task of reforming and organizing instruction 
anew, were selected from among the most bigoted, the most 
retrograde, the most notably hostile to all spirit of moderate 
progress, and the most inimical to youth. The commission 
set to work in the same spirit which had dictated the choice 
made, and completely justified the confidence of the gOA^ern- 
ment. W^ith respect to the universities, these commissioners 
proposed to themselves a double aim: first, to haAe few 
students ; secondly, to make those few as miserable as they 
possibly could. 

To attain the former point, they created two classes of stu- 
dents, those Avhose parents could proA^e the possession of a 
certain amount of landed property, and those Avhose parents 
could not. Again : they created two distinct modes of exami- 
nation, one for the students of the first, class, the other for 
those of the second. The ordeal appointed for the latter was 
purposely fraught with such a complication of difficulties, with 
respect both to the extent of matter comprised in the exami- 


MORE STI'PEXIS THAN EVER. 


133 


nation, and to tlie nuinijer of votes required to pass, as to deter 
tbe most self-confident from facing it. This amounted to 
neither more nor less than an ingeniously disguised mode of 
excluding from the liberal professions an entire class of citizens. 

To attain the second object, that of rendering the students 
miserable, the commissioners subjected them to a host of petty, 
puerile, humiliating regulations and restraints, and abandoned 
them as a prey to the systematic ill Trill of all the persons m 
any way connected with the universities. On this second point, 
the commissioners, to their credit be it said, succeeded to their 
heart’s content. But not so as regards their first purpose. 
Quite the contrary. No sooner was the re-opening of the uni- 
versities publicly announced, and the books ready to receive 
the names of the future students, than a whole mass of young 
men flocked to be matriculated. Never during the preceding 
years had the number of inscriptions attained to so formidable 
an amount. This result, which was by no means surprising, 
originated in two causes. First, the large arrear of youths to 
be educated, which had accumulated for the last few years ; 
secondly, the determination simultaneously taken by many 
families in aflluent circumstances, to dispose of a part of their 
capital hitherto employed in commerce or trade, in the purchase 
of land, in order to enable their sons to enter the university 
as students of the first class. So that all the great pains taken 
by the commissioners had turned out labor lost, and the only 
sufferers in this, as in many other cases, were, after all, the 
poor. 

It was at the secretary’s office, in the magnificent palace 
of the university, Strada Balhi, that the names were entered. 
Alfred and I were not among the last wdio presented them- 
selves for matriculation. We found a considerable number of 
youths assembled for the same purpose, and had to wait long 
in an antechamber. At length we Avere introduced into a 
hall, where the secretary sat in state. He was a gentleman of 
forty-five, rather stout, much pitted with the small-pox, and 
looked supercilious. He placed before us a register, in which 
we wrote our surnames and Christian names, • and the pro- 
fession to which we destined ourselves. He then showed us 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


13:t 

a list of the documents we must furnish before we could be' 
admitted to follow out our studies — so long that we M^ere 
obliged to make a copy lest wo should forget some of them. 
In the following list of certificates required from me, which 
I now set down from memory, I am sure I must have omitted 
some. 

1st. Certificate of birth and baptism. 

2d. Do. of my having been vaccinated, or of having had the 
small-pox. 

3d. Do. of my having followed two years’ study in philos- 
ophy, and of having passed the examinations thereunto apper- 
taining. 

4th. Do. of good conduct from my parish priest. 

5th. Do. of having attended on my parish church on all 
church feast days, for the last six months. 

6th. Do. of having confessed myself each month during the 
six preceding months. 

7th. Do. of having confessed and taken the sacrament duly 
as required by the precept for Easter, at that solemnity last 
preceding. 

8th. Do. that my father and mother possessed landed prop- 
erty of sufficient value to afford each son a portion equal to 
the amount, determined by the rule to which I have already 
alluded. 

9th, and last. A certificate from the police, stating that I had 
not taken part in the constitutional movement of 1821. 

The notion that I could have been implicated in a political 
movement when only twelve years of age, or thereabouts, ap- 
peared to me so comical, that I laughingly made the observation. 
The remark was scarcely uttered when the three heads of the 
three clerks busily engaged in writing, were simultaneously 
raised, and their six eyes fixed on me with an expression of 
alarm^ed wonder. The secretary assumed an air of offended 
dignity, and said, that the rules were established to be ob- 
served, not commented upon. I was startled by the tone of 
the remonstrance, which was that of a superior to an inferior 
caught in fault. 

And yet the secretary was not a hard or a bad man — fai 


STUDENTS MUST BE KEPT DOWN. 


135 


from it ; but he was a father of a family, and naturally anx- 
ious as such to keep his situation, which was lucrative, and, to 
do so, he Avas obliged to conform to the spirit of the times, viz., 
to he harsh and haughty in his communications with the stu- 
dents. This was the general rule, as I soon found out, and all 
those who had anything to do with students, from the commis- 
sioners of the board of instruction down to the beadles and 
porters, conformed to it most strictly. One Avould have sup- 
posed that we Avere beings of an inferior order, Avhom eA^ery 
one might and ought to ill use in every Avay. “ Students must 
be kept down,” was the consecrated phrase that justified all 
kinds of indignity. And such of the professors — there Avere a 
feAv — as treated us with any degree of propriety, Avere noted 
in high quarters, and looked upon as giving a bad example, 
injurious to a system of Avholesome discipline. 

God knows all the trouble, the anxiety, the waste of time 
and patience, and alas ! alas ! the numerous lies, these unlucky 
certificates cost me, especially numbers fiAx and six 1 Of course, 
the parish-priest had not called over the roll of his flock, to 
know whether they attended divine serAuce or not ; so he took 
my word for it. My confessor did the same. Could I tell 
them, “No, I haA^e not been to church regularly — no, I have 
not confessed every month,” and so voluntarily shut myself 
out of the uniA'ersity ? I stifled the voice of conscience, and 
obtained the two certificates. I recefred them, in truth, AAuth 
a feeling of shame and confusion, as if I had stolen them : 
would that this emotion of remorse might plead for me ! 

I carried all my papers to the secretary, but I was not yet 
at the end of my troubles. He told me that the authorities 
of the university did not acknoAvledge the signature of eccle- 
siastics unless authenticated in the archbishop’s court (curia 
arcivescovile). So to the archbishop’s court I Avent, Avhere a 
A'ery ugly gentleman, looking much like a toad in silver spec- 
tacles, did the thing for me, charging me ninepence for each 
authentication (I needed five). This little tribute, levied upon 
hundreds of students at least four times a year, amounted to a 
pretty round sum of net profit to the archbishop’s court, and 
this, I verily believe, was the sole motive for the regulation. 


136 


LOiiKNZO jj::noni. 


The papers thus au’encled -were at last accepted, and the sec- 
retaiy appointed the next evening, at eight o’clock, for me to 
be at the house of Mr. Merlini, acting commissioner for the 
montli, by whom my documents were to be finally examined. 
Mr. Merlini’s signature could alone open the doors of the uni- 
versity to me. 

Mr. Merlini was one of the most influential members of what 
was called the provincial hoard of public instruction, under the 
management of which the university of Genoa had been placed. 
The gentlemen of this board were by turns to superintend the 
business for a month at a time — that is to say, to carry on the 
current concerns, and give the necessary signatures ; but, for 
some reason or other, it was always Mr. Merlini’s turn to be 
acting commissioner for the month during the many years of 
my attendance at the university — a circumstance which gave 
me the opportunity of studying his character thoroughly. 
Probably Mr. Merlini’s colleagues had perceived his unques- 
tionable superiority in torturing those under his direction, and 
consequently yielded to him those functions of which he ac- 
quitted himself so well. 

I was punctual to the appointment, and accompanied by my 
faithful Alfred, who had gone through all the required formali- 
ties with me, and who was overjoyed that, in spite of his fears, 
no objection had been made to him on the score of his expul- 
sion from the college. Eight o’clock was striking as I pulled 
the bell of Mr. Merlini’s apartment. The door, covered, with 
green baize, opened, tiu'ning on its hinges without the least 
sound, and an old servant, thin as a skeleton, showed his ter- 
rified face. “ Mr. Merlini ?” — “ Hush !” ansAvered the skeleton 
in a whisper, “do not talk so loud; you have already made 
noise enough with the bell.” I supposed that Mr. Merlini must 
have had an apoplectic attack, and was actually dying ; but 
the fact only was, that Mr. Merlini was not yet up. The good 
man, as it seemed, liked his siesta, and always went to bed 
after his dinner, not to rise again till eight o’clock, the hour 
of his levee. Through a door, also lined with green baize, 
opening as silently as the first, we were ushered into a small 
room thickly carpeted. Carpets, owing to the heat of the cli- 


THE CASTLE OF SIL! NCE ME. MERLINI. 


137 


mate, being very rarely met -witli at Genoa, it was quite a new 
sensation to me, and not at all an agreeable one — to move 
like a shadow, without producing the slightest sound. This 
circumstance, the alarm manifested by the servant, the death- 
like stillness around — all this had a singular effect upon me. 
I positively grew chilly. I felt as if the Piombi of Venice had 
opened to receive me. Alfred also looked anxious and pale 
and we sat down glancing at each other in silence, scarcely 
daring to breathe. In course of time new-comers dropped in, 
and I observed that no one entered without betraying in his 
countenance symptoms of the same nervous impression under 
which I was laboring. At the end of an hour, voices were 
heard in the next room, a door opened, my name was called, 
and I went in. 

Mr. Merlini was seated before a large desk covered with 
papers, one of which he was reading attentively. The secre- 
tary, standing at his left hand, seemed to follow his eyes along 
the lines, and to give some occasional explanation. Mr. Mer- 
lini was an old man of seventy ; he had not a tooth left, his 
chin was long and pointed, his nose the same; they seemed 
convulsively striving to meet. A small tuft, consisting at most 
of two or three dozen of hairs, was carefully brushed up from 
the back part of his head, and brought to meet in a waving 
point on the top of his forehead. At the very first glance, one 
guessed them to be dyed, as appeared to be the case also with 
his scanty whiskers. He was dressed from head to foot in 
white dimity, and his shirt-collar, turned down flat like a 
child’s, left his scraggy neck qiiite bare. Ilis head Avas cov- 
ered by a blue cap, and he wore a green shade to shield his 
eyes from the light. Mr. Merlini’s Arcadian costume, his dyed 
hair and whiskers, with a something altogether undefinablc 
about his person, betrayed some pretensions still to youth. 

I expected an icy reception — but no such thing. He rose 
precipitately at my entrance to perform a salutation, and in 
so doing stumbled. I put out my hand to catch him. “ Do 
not trouble yourself, my dear sir, I am still pretty steady on 
my legs, thank God.” These words, accompanied by an in- 
.describable look, were rather sneered out than articulated. 


138 


LORENZO BENONI. 


*‘An(l Ilow is your father, worthy man? — one of my best 
friends.” He had taken off his cap, and made me twenty 
apologies before putting it on again. “ The fact is, that I am 
rather older than you are, my dear sir, and my hair is going” 
(it was already gone), “ ih ! ih !” and again came the sneer. 
I knew enough by hearsay of my interlocutor to begin to trem- 
ble at so ceremonious a reception. 

The examination of my papers began. I was seated oppo- 
site to Mr. Merlini, and I had remarked several times that 
whenever he addressed himself to me he purposely put up his 
hand to the front of his cap, as if to make a double screen for 
his eyes. Presently he explained the meaning of this by beg- 
ging me, with a thousand pardons, to come and sit on his right 
hand. “ My sight is so weak, and you have such shining but- 
tons to your coat, that they quite dazzle me, they do indeed,” 
and his sneering grin came for the third time. This was a 
way of his OAvn to let me feel that etiquette required a black 
coat for a visit to a commissioner, and I had on a blue one. 
Mr. Merlini had the eyes of a lynx, and the ears of a hare, 
but it was his whim to call himself deaf and near-sighted. It 
was a sort of wit peculiar to himself. There is no accounting 
for taste. After all, the examination of my papers proved sat- 
isfactory, and the decisive signature was given without diffi- 
culty. The same fuss with which I had been received accom- 
panied my leave-taking. Had I been a prince of the blood, 
Mr. Merlini could not have been more ceremonious. He at- 
tended me to the door, and bade me earnestly mind the stairs. 
Evidently the worthy gentleman was quizzing me. 

I went and waited in the street for Alfred, who was intro- 
duced after me. He* stayed so long, that I began to feel un- 
easy. When at last he appeared, his countenance, poor fel- 
low, was so agitated, that before he opened his lips, I knew 
that my fears had been too well grounded. Mr. Merlini had 
really exhausted upon Alfred the exquisite talent in which he 
so eminently excelled for keeping any one on the rack. He 
had been so kind, so soft, so adorably easy ! “He had al- 
ready taken the pen to sign,” said Alfred, relating the whole 
to me, “ when he stopped all of a sudden and asked with an 


THE INSEPARABLES SEPARATED. 


139 


appearance of the greatest simplicity where I had followed my 
studies. ‘ At the Royal college,’ said I, of course. ‘ And no 
doubt,’ returned Mr. Merlini, ‘ you went through them with 
honor and satisfaction to your superiors'?’ Not knowing what 
to say, I looked modestly acquiescent. ‘ When did you leave 
the college?’ pursued the inquisitor. ‘ In the month of June,’ 
faltered I. ‘ That was two months before the termination of 
the scholastic year,’ observed my tormentor. ‘For what rea- 
son did you leave before the time V I remained silent. Here 
the secretary chimed in with — ‘ I think I remember that Mr. 
Alfred was expelled from college.’ — ‘Expelled from college !’ 
roared the commissioner, rising, ‘ you were expelled from col- 
lege, and you try to surprise me into giving you my signature, 
Avhich you very well know I can not give without failing in 
my most sacred duties !’ And so he went on till he lost breath, 
and I took advantage of the moment to make my bow and get 
away.” 

This unexpected catastrophe went to my heart. To the 
consciousness that poor Alfred suffered this through me was 
added the fear, too soon realized, that it would he the signal 
for our separation. In fact, a week afterward his father sum- 
moned him to Turin, where, by dint of powerful interest, he 
hoped to get him admitted to the university. Every means 
was tried, interest was even made with the king, but all in 
vain; and Alfred’s father, whose great ambition for his son 
was the title of doctor, at length sent him to Pisa, in Tuscany, 
where he was admitted without difficulty. 

With a heavy step and a still heavier heart, I went the day 
after to the secretary’s office, at the university, to take my 
student’s card, which was called the adjiiittatur, and cost half 
a crown. The admittatur was good for three months only. 
“ At the end of that time,” said the secretary, “ you must bring 
me back this, signed by all your professors, along with a cer- 
tificate from your confessor, and one from the rector of your 
parish, attesting that you have assiduously fulfilled your religious 
duties, and then Ave shall see whether we can give you anotlier.” 

I have already said, that, contrary to the expectation of the 
reformers of public instruction, the number of names matric- 


140 


LORENZO BKNONI. 


ulated had never been so large as this year; a circumstance 
which led these great men to make some profound reflections, 
and to come to the conclusion, that to bring together in one 
single building some hundreds of young men, was neither more 
nor less than to put the state within a hair’s breadth of ruin 
To avoid so alarming a contingency, the following was theii 
wise contrivance: — The lectures were not to be delivered 
within the walls of the university, but at the respective houses 
of the professors. In this way formidable meetings would be 
avoided ; and so the university, opened de jure, was still de 
facto closed. 

This arrangement caused us students much inconvenience. 
First, it obliged us to trot about from one professor’s house to 
another, often separated by long distances ; besides, none of 
these gentlemen had apartments sufficiently spacious to admit 
with comfort a hundred or more students at a time, so that we 
were stowed together like negroes in a slave-ship, and the 
greater number obliged to stand. This method became intol- 
erable in the warm season. I remember there was one profes- 
sor so much straitened for room that the majority of his 
audience was obliged to remain on the staircase. 

was strictly required of the professors that they should 
call over the roll of their auditors at the beginning of the lec- 
ture, and mark down those who might be absent. After three 
absences thus proved, the professor was forbidden to give his 
signature to the student’s card, which occasioned a loss of 
three months. Nothing so provoking was ever invented — 
nothing giving rise to so many acts of servility on the one side 
and of gross partiality on the other, as this confounded system 
of calling over the names. It was a sword of Damocles, con- 
tinually suspended over our heads, and really put us at the 
mercy of our professors ; for where was the student sure of not 
being three times in three months a minute after tbe hour, and 
who might not want a little indulgence on this score? For the 
youth of independent character, who was above condescending 
to entreaty, the fatal cross was scarcely ever effaced, whereas 
it readily disappeared for one who could bow low, and make 
himself acceptable by fawning. 


DOINGS AT THE UNTYEKSTTY. 


141 


The letter was everything, the spirit nothing. Tl:e student 
who showed himself assiduously at the lecture, especially if 
very submissive, even although he never looked at his books, 
stopped short at the most simple question, and conducted him- 
self in other respects no matter how, fulfilled the letter of the 
law, and that was sufiicient — he was irreproachable. On the 
contrary, a conscientious young fellow who was above cringing, 
let him be ever so studious, ever so unimpeachable in his 
morals, was unmercifully pounced upon at the least infraction 
of the letter of the law. The aim was to form machines not 
men. The university was like a huge press destined to 
squeeze out of the rising generation all independence of spirit, 
all dignity, all self-iH?spect; and when I pass in review the 
noble characters which, nevertheless, have escaped from this 
bed of Procrustes, I can not help thinking with pride what 
strong moral elements our much-slighted Italian nature must 
possess, to come forth pure and vigorous from such a deleterious 
atmosphere. 

A kind professor, who might sympathize with us — and there 
were some such — dared not give way to his good-will so much 
as he might have wished, for he knew that he was watched as 
well as we, and that an unfavorable report might cost him his 
chair. The professors and the students were equally subjected 
to the espionage of the servants of the university, such as 
porters, beadles, janitors, watchmen, etc. etc., who were all in- 
formers, — informing being a condition, sine qua non, of their 
obtaining and keeping their places. These wretches did their 
best to overhear our conversations, which they reported after 
their own fashion, sending up notes concerning various indi- 
viduals. They felt their power, and used it like uneducated 
creatures as they were, that is, by conducting themselves with 
rudeness and insolence. And the student who might be 
tempted to make one of these men know his place, entered 
upon a perilous undertaking, for between the affirmation of a 
student and that of a servant, the latter was sure to obtain 
credence. 

Nothing more painful than my first steps in this little world 
of low feeling, mean annoyances, deception, and oppression. 


142 


LORENZO BENONI. 


Nothing so discouraging as my gradual initiation into a state 
of things against which my whole nature revolted. There was 
a complete end to enchanted palaces, princesses, and romantic 
adventures ! My fictitious world crumbled piecemeal, as sad 
realities forced themselves upon me. Dull indeed and dreary 
was this first period of my universit}^ education. I was mis- 
erable, and felt so lonely ! Alfred was gone, and as for Csesar, 
poor fellow, I hardly saw him even at meals. 

Intended for a notary, Csesar was placed for a short time 
with a member of that profession who was in extensive prac- 
tice, — a hard and selfish man, who led him a sore life, over- 
loading him with work, and treating him with cruel harshness. 
Very often the entire day would not suffice for the task* 
imposed upon Csesar, and he was condemned to encroach on 
his sleep, and spend a great part of the night in copying law 
papers. So he also was very wretched, and our only consola- 
tion was to relate to each other our sorrows, lament our desti- 
nies, and curse our oppressors. Poor Csesar’s excitement, when 
upon this topic, often verged upon delirium. From the fear of 
oversleeping, and of reaching his office too late, it frequently 
happened that he would rise in the dead of night, and return 
no more to bed. 

One of the things that preyed most on my mind, was the 
obligation under which I lay of confessing myself every month, 
and, indeed, on a fixed day. Now, at times I did not feel in 
a frame of mind to do so, and my conscience Avas startled at 
the idea of approaching lightly the confessional, for Avhich I 
had been brought up to entertain the deepest reverence. 
Fortunately, I met Avitli a worthy ecclesiastic, Avho calmed 
my scruples. He Avas an old priest, who held to the Jansen- 
ists’ doctrine. He often came to see my mother, and his con- 
A^ersation, devoid of prejudice, had made a favorable impression 
on me. I chose him as my confessor, and opened my mind 
to him. The good man completely restored* my conscience. 
“ Confess,” said he, “ only Avhen you feel yourself in the fitting 
disposition to do so ; Avhen you are not in a proper mood come 
to me, we will have a little conversation, Avhich Avill be much 
better than a confession unworthily gone through, and you- 


A NEW FRIEND. 


143 


shall have from me all the certificates you want.” This ar- 
rangement relieved my mind from an immense weight. 

About the same time, coming liome one evening earlier 
than usual, I found my mother in tears. • She refused to tell 
me the cause, but it came upon me as a sudden revelation that 
she was far from happy, and I guessed who was at the bottom 
of it. This discovery added much to my load of misery. 

I loved my mother so tenderly that I could not bear to see 
her unhappy. 

It was in this state of mind that I became acquainted with - 
a fellow-student, whom I had long wished to know. This 
acquaintance soon ripened into a friendship equally intimate 
and enthusiastic on both sides, Avhich Avas a happy relief to 
my sufferings, and shed an inexpressibly sweet balm into the 
wounds of my soul. 


141 


LORKNZO 




CHAPTER XVII. 

HOW I OOT ACQUAINTED WITH FANTASIO, AND BOTH OF US WITH 

THE DIRECTOR OF THE POLICE SUDDEN CRISIS IN C^SAIl’S 

AFFAIRS, AND HIS ILLNESS. 

The following was the occasion which introduced me 
Fantasio, the name I shall give to my new friend. 

I was one of about a dozen young men (Fantasio was not 
of the number) who went one warm evening to enjoy the cool 
breeze at the Acquasola. Some new embellishments had just 
been made in that public walk ; new flower-beds and grass 
plots had been laid out, and surrounded by wooden trellis- 
work to prevent trespass. We happened to be near this spot, 
some of us seated on a bench, some on the ground. It chanced 
that one of my companions, induced by the heat, took ofi* his 
coat, and hung it on the trellis. We were chatting merrily, 
when the sergeant from the guard-house of the Acquasola 
happening to pass, gave orders in a more than brutal tone, that 
the coat should be taken away. It might be a question 
whether the act thus challenged constituted an infraction of 
the rules, but it was out of all question that the tone in which 
the intimation was given, was, to say the least of it, highly 
improper. The owner of the coat nevertheless obeyed, ob- 
serving at the same time to the sergeant, that he might have 
been more civil. A provoking retort from the soldier ensued. 
In short, an altercation began, but after a fev/ minutes the 
man of arms went away, and there was an end of the matter, 
— so at least we thought. But we were mistaken. A quarter 
of an hour had scarcely elapsed, when back came the sergeant, 
vociferating with furious gestures, “ Do you think to frighten 


THE COAT AND THE GUARD. 


145 


me Ibecause you are students The man was evidently ex- 
.cited by drink. “ Let us alone, do !” said the young man who 
owned the coat, and close to whom the sergeant had placed him- 
self, The words were no sooner pronounced than the soldier, 
without further warning, drew his sabre, and pointed it against 
the youth’s breast. At sight of this we all rose like lightning, 
and threw ourselves upon the frantic man, not to do him any 
hurt, but to prevent further mischief. The sabre, turned aside 
in time by the young man, had merely scratched the skin. 
All this, of course, had not passed without some loud words, 
and the passers-by, attracted by the noise, came around us, 
and soon formed a compact group. 

The soldier returned his sabre to the scabbard, and began 
his retreat toward the guard-house, roaring out with stentorian 
lungs, that we wanted to make a revolution — that was the 
things To turn a case of lawful self-defence into a political 
attempt, the sergeant felt instinctively, was a sure way of 
throwing odium on us, and securing impunity for himself. We 
followed him, in a state of great excitement, to the guard- 
house, with the intention of carrying a complaint to the officer 
on duty, but there ^was no officer, the sergeant himself being 
chief of the guard. So we retired, giving him to understand 
repeatedly, that he should hear of us again. 

The next day we met in council, and it was decided that 
we should carry a complaint to the governor of the town, and 
demand the punishment of the sergeant. There being a law 
which forbade the military, under severe penalties, to draw 
their swords, we, in our simplicity, made no doubt of obtaining 
redress. But was it pnident to present ourselves ten or twelve 
together, and would it not be better to choose a deputation, 
which should declare the subject of our complaint? Opinions 
were divided on that point, and some one proposed to go and 
consult on the matter with Fantasio, who lived close by. No 
sooner said than done. Fantasio received us most cordially, 
shared our indignation, declared himself in favor of the 
deputation, and offered to make part of it, an offer which was 
accepted with great satisfaction. I was named second deputy ; 
the third was the young man who had been so near bearing 

7 


146 


LOIIENZO BKNONT. 


serious marks of the sergeant’s brutality. We went to the 
governor’s palace four times in the course of the day, without 
obtaining admittance. A sort of secretary, who at last asked 
us what was the object of our visit, and to whom we explained 
the whole without hesitation, observed that our business con- 
cerned his excellency less than the military commandant of 
the town. This was another military authority, having more 
especially under his orders the troops of the garrison. This 
officer, a sort of gross, brutal trooper, received us standing, and 
during the five minutes of audience he vouchsafed us, repeated 
over and over again, that “ the military were to be respected ; 
that if we fancied we were masters of the town, we were 
devilishly mistaken.” It was in vain for us to say that we 
were quite of his opinion on that point, but that it was not 
the one in question. He would not listen to us, turned on his 
heel, and walked off. 

The following day, early in the morning, a letter was brought 
to my address, containing a summons from the director of 
police to present myself at his office at twelve o’clock. I 
hastened immediately to Fantasio with this piece of intelli- 
gence, and found that he had received a similar notification ; 
so had he who had been the third in the deputation. We 
were exact to the time. After having been kept waiting long 
in the antechamber, we were introduced to the presence of the 
director, who began by telling us, that “ we might thank his 
moderation first, and secondly, the respectability of the families 
to which we belonged, that he had had us summoned before 
him, instead of sending us straight to prison.” After this exor- 
dium, he went on to say, that “ the authorities had something 
else to do than to lis'on to complaints of imaginary wrongs ; 
that it was time, higii 'me, to have done with such non- 
sense; that students had beia.i’ keep quiet; that now he had 
once for all warned us, we might go about our business.” With 

this he motioned us to the door. “But ” began Fantasio. 

“ Hush !” interrupted the magistrate ; “ not another word, or” 
— taking hold of a hand-bell on the table — “I send you 
instantly to the tower” — the state prison. 

Such was the redress we obtained. Foui'-and-twenty years 


A FAMILY STORM. 


147 


later, wlien things had fortunately changed for the better in 
Piedmont, one of my friends, employed at the police, commu- 
nicated to me a secret note entered upon their official books, 
and bearing the date of the day on which I had thus appeared 
before the director. The note runs thus : — “ Lorenzo Benoni, 
hot-headed, talented, romantic, reserved^^ (the word was 
underlined), “to be looked after.” I suppose that my two 
colleagues each got a little memorandum of the same kind 
for their share. 

This affair gave rise to the first stormy scene that had as 
yet passed between my father and me. It was a few hours 
after my interview with the director of the police, and naturally 
I was in no very cheerful mood, when my father, who already 
knew all about it (somehow or other he always knew what I 
did), asked me of a sudden whether I had done making myself 
the town talk? I was startled, and begged him to explain 
how he meant that I had made myself the town talk. Why, 
by playing the part of Don Quixote, said my father ; what 
business had I to stand forward in a matter which did not 
personally concern me? I answered, that in bearing witness 
for a wronged and ill-used companion, I had acted according 
to the precept, “ Do unto others as ye would be done unto,” 
and that I did not think I was to blame for it. All that was 
very fine, retorted my father; but the end of it was, that the 
stain of having appeared at the police remained with me, a 
circumstance very little calculated to enhance a young man’s 
reputation — was I aware of that? To this I observed, that 
if the police was a disreputable thing, so much the worse for 
those who made it so ; that as for me, I could not reasonably 
be made responsible for a step taken on compulsion, and sorely 
against my will. New replies gave place to new rejoinders, 
till at last my father orderec^ me peremptorily to hold my 
tongue. My blood was up, and I could not help muttering, 
that the argument was a convenient one, but that I had 
thought it reserved for the special use of directors of the police. 
Upon this my father rose in a passion, and advanced toward 
me. I thought at the time that it was with the intention of 
striking me, but of this I am not sure ; certainly his aspect was 


148 


LORENZO BENONI. 


menacing. My mother started up at the same instant, and 
threw herself between us, desiring me to leave the room, which 
I immediately did. 

The discomfiture we had received in common, created be- 
tween Fantasio and myself a communion of feeling, which 
contributed to the rapid growth of our intimacy. What our 
feelings were toward the commandant of the town, and the 
director of the police, in particular, as well as toward the 
government in general, I leave it to the reader to guess. It 
is, however, certain, that within a month after this circum- 
stance, which had brought Fantasio and me together, Ave had 
sworn a mutual friendship in life and death, and, somehow or 
other, an intimacy had sprung up between the two families. 
Every morning, without fail, I AA'ent to Fantasio’s house, and 
every evening, in like manner, Fantasio came to ours. My 
mother and my brothers, especially Csesar, were captivated 
with him. He Avas certainly the most fascinating little fellow 
I ever knew. 

Fantasio was my elder by one year. He had a finely- 
shaped head, the forehead spacious and prominent, and eyes 
black as jet, at times darting lightning. His complexion Avas 
a pale olive, and his features, remarkably striking altogether, 
were set, so to speak, in a profusion of flowing black hair, 
which he Avore rather long. The expression of his countenance, 
grave and almost severe, Avas softened by a smile of great 
sweetness, mingled aa ith a certain shrewdness, betraying a rich 
comic vein. He spoke Avell and fluently, and, when he Avarmed 
upon a subject, there Avas a fascinating power in his eyes, his 
gestures, his voice, his whole bearing, that Avas quite irresisti- 
ble. His life was one of retirement and study ; the amuse- 
ments common AAuth young men of his age had no attraction 
for him. His library, his cigar, his coffee ; some occasional 
walks, rarely in the daytime, and always in solitary places, 
more frequently in the evening and by moonlight — such Avere 
his only pleasures. His morals Avere irreproachable, his con- 
versation Avas always chaste. If any of the young compan- 
ions he gathered round him occa.sionally indulged in some wan- 
ton jest, or expression of double meaning, Fantasio — God bless 


FANTASIO. 


149 


him ! — would put an immediate stop to it by some one word, 
which never failed of its effect. Such was the influence that the 
purity of his life, and his incontestable superiority, gave to him 
Fantasio was well versed in history, and in the literature, 
not only of his own, but of foreign countries. Shakspere, By- 
ron, Goethe, Schiller, were as familiar to him as Dante and 
Alfieri. Spare and thin in body, he had an indefatigably ac- 
tive mind ; he wrote much and well in both prose and verse, 
and there was hardly a subject he had not attempted — histori- 
cal essays, literary criticisms, tragedies, &c., &c. A passion- 
ate lover of liberty under every shape, there breathed in his 
fiery soul an indomitable spirit of revolt against tyranny and 
oppression of every sort. Kind, feeling, generous, never did 
he refuse advice or service ; and his library, amply furnished, 
as well as his well-filled purse, were always at the command 
of his friends. Perhaps he was rather fond of displaying the 
brilliancy of his dialectic powers at the expense of good sense, 
by maintaining occasionally- strange paradoxes. Perhaps 
there was a slight touch of affectation in his invariably black 
dress ; and his horror of apparent shirt-collars was certainly 
somewhat exaggerated ; but, take him all in all, he was a 
noble lad. 

To him I owe having really read and enjoyed Dante. Many 
a time, before having made acquaintance with Fantasio, I had 
taken up the Divina Commedia^' with the firm determination 
of going through the whole of it ; but soon recoiling from its 
difliculties, I had given up the task, and contented myself with 
reading those portions of the great poem which are most fa- 
mous, and the beauties of which are most popular ; in a word, 
I had only sought amusement in Dante. Fantasio taught me 
to look there for instruction and the ennobling of my faculties. 
I drank deeply at this source of profound thought and gener- 
ous emotion, and from that time the name of Italy, which re- 
curs so often in the book, became sacred to me, and made my 
very heart beat. We read together the most obscure passages. 
Fantasio’s commentaries were rather brilliant than deep, but I 
was of an age when brilliancy is irresistibly seductive, and 
makes up for everything else. 


150 


LORENZO BENONI. 


At that time the war between the classic and romantic 
schools was at its height ; ink flowed in torrents. Unable to 
find vent on the forbidden ground of politics, passions ran 
counter in the lists of literature. The classics were the con- 
servatives in letters, the champions of authority, swearing by 
Aristotle and Horace, out of whose church there was no sal- 
vation to be found. The imitation of the ancients was their 
creed. The romantic school was that of the liberals in litera- 
ture, the enemies of authority. They would not hear of Aris- 
totle and his unities. According to them, genius knew no law- 
giver but itself; imitation was mere impotence; Nature was 
the sole and eternal spring of the living and the beautiful. 
From literature the impulse of innovating reform had spread 
to art. Fossini in music, Hayes and Migliara in painting, had 
opened new paths. Manzoni, the avowed chief of the roman- 
tic school in literature, had just published his ‘^Promessi SposiP 
The periodicals belonging to each party threw themselves on 
this book with a sort of fury — some praising it to the skies, 
others vehemently decrying it. According to the former, Man- 
zoni was a demigod : if you gave ear to the latter, he was 
scarcely a man. 

There could be no doubt as to Fantasio’s choice in this mat- 
ter. He espoused the cause of the romantic school with all 
the ardor and devotedness belonging to his nature. He pub- 
lished in a Florentine periodical, attached to the romantic 
party, a series of articles full of spirit, in which he laid down 
the most revolutionary theories with respect to art. We gave 
him our enthusiastic applause, and, following the example of 
our young leader, became violent Shaksperians, Manzonians, 
Rossinists, Migliarists. Fantasio, with his characteristic fever- 
ish activity, immediately conceived the plan of a literary 
paper, of which he was to be the conductor and I one of the 
contributors. But some difficulty, which I do not well remem- 
ber, came across the project, the realization of which w’^as de- 
ferred. 

At the end of this first year of my legal studies, things came 
to a sudden crisis in the affairs of my brother Caesar. One 
evening, after having been overworked all day, he was pre- 


ANOTHER FAMILY STORM. 


151 


paring to return home, when his employer gave him some pa- 
pers, a copy of which was wanted, he said, in a great hurry, 
and must be done in the course of that night. Caesar was un- 
well, and declined this extra work on the plea of feeling ill. 
His employer insisted upon the point, imputing the refusal to 
idleness. Caesar, commanding himself with difficulty, answered 
that he thought he fulfilled his duty by giving his days, and 
that night was allotted for sleep. At these words the notary 
flew into a towering passion, and called my brother an idle 
starveling. Caesar, exasperated, said, “ If ever I put my foot 
again into your office, I give you leave to call me idler and 
starveling, and kick me out of it besides,” and so saying he 
put on his hat and went away. 

The next day during dinner, the more than usually frown- 
ing aspect of my father showed us that he knew all. And, 
true enough, he presently broached the subject, and notified 
to Caesar, as his ultimatum, that the next day he must make 
an apology ^o his employer. My brother repelled the propo- 
sition with the gi'eatest indignation ; “ Make excuses to that 
brute ! and for what 1 For having insulted me ! Never ! never ! 
I would rather be made minced meat of!” 

“You will do what I order, or you shall leave my house 
within four-and-twenty hours 1” thundered my father. 

“ This instant, if you please ; but I will not do a mean and 
vile thing.” A terrible scene followed. My father was be- 
side himself, Caesar was exasperated beyond measure. We 
were obliged to carry him off, almost by force. In the even- 
ning he complained of shiverings, and went early to bed. I 
remarked that there was an unusual red spot on his cheek, and 
that his eyes were more than commonly bright and dilated. 
“ If I could only weep, what a relief it would be 1” said he to 
me several times. 

My father came home at the accustomed hour, and supper 
was served. “ Where is Cjesar, that I do not see him in his 
place 1” asked he ot my m.other. “ Cesar is gone to bed with 
fever,” was my mother’s answer. “ This is a strangely conve- 
nient fever,” returned my father bitterly ; “ if you have got 
this up for stage-efiect, I can tell you it won’t do with me. I 


152 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


shall not he the dupe of it.” My mother breathed not a word, 
hut she gave him a look — such a look as I shall never forget 
to the last day of my life. My father could not stand it ; he 
quailed, and turned his eyes to tlie floor. Supper passed in 
total silence, and my father retired to his own room immedi- 
ately thereafter. 

When we returned to Caesar, we found him delirious. “ I 
shall never he ahle to get through this copy to-night,” cried 
he as soon as he saw me come in ; “ my head can’t stand it. 
Do go, and let Mr. Marco know I can’t.” Imagine my moth- 
er’s alarm. I went out, indeed, as poor Caesar urged, hut it 
was to fetch the family physician, whom I brought hack with 
me. He ordered copious bleeding, and the application of four- 
and-twenty leeches, if, two hours after the bleeding, the de- 
lirium did not give way. So we had to send for a surgeon, 
who opened a vein, and, the delirium still continuing, leeches 
were applied during the night. The symptoms were aggra- 
vated rather than diminished when the physician returned 
early the next morning. He desired a consultation, which 
took place, and it was decided that the bleeding should he 
continued. Caesar was then immediately bled for the third 
time, and again in the afternoon. The patient after that had 
a respite of some hours. My brother’s illness was a brain- 
fever. 

During five days and five nights Caesar’s life hung by a 
thread. With the exception of a few rare intervals, his state 
was one of constant delirium. He was pursued by one fixed 
idea — a task quite impossible to be achieved, and the rage of 
his employer because it was not completed. I had laid a 
mattress on the ground at the foot of his bed, and I stretched 
myself on it from time to time, when my limbs refused to sup- 
port me. I had never witnessed serious illness before, and 
the gloomy phantasmagoria of a sick-room, with those closed 
curtains, that shaded light, those whispered questions, that 
terrifying immobility, those sudden movements still more 
alarming, was a terrible novelty to me. He who has never 
watched by the bed of. a beloved one*in danger knows not 
what suffering is. 


A STCK-KOOM. 


153 


I had passed through all the alternations of hope and ter- 
ror, when, on the morning of the sixth day, the physician, after 
his usual visit, shook his head, and advised that the sacraments 
should be administered. This was a sentence of death. Die ! 
he, my Caisar, my brother and beloved companion — he, so 
full of life a week ago ! It was surely impossible ; it could 
not be God’s will ! What would become of me without Csesar ! 
I thought I had exhausted the full bitterness of grief, and the 
agony was just beginning — an agony unlike any before expe- 
rienced. What! Csesar was to die,* and the sky was blue as 
ever, the sun shone bright, the birds were chirping merrily on 
the housetop, all nature was bedecked and joyous. This could 
not be ! 

Two long rows of people with lighted tapers filled the room, 
and knelt down, singing psalms. The priest in his pontifical 
vestments approached the bed and administered the sacred 
wafer ; every one then retired in silence, the room remained 
empty, and nothing was to be heard but the ticking of the 
clock. Was this a reality or a vision 1 My heart was burst- 
ing ; something within me seemed to break. Praise be to God, 
he granted me the relief of tears 1 I rushed into an adjoining 
room, hid my head among the cushions of the sofa, and wept 
like a wretched creature as I was. 

Csesar passed the whole of that day in complete immobility ; 
he might have been supposed a corpse. His breathing was 
imperceptible, and hardly tarnished the miiTor which we placed 
several times before his lips. Late in the evening, in a whis- 
per almost inaudible, he asked “ to drink.” These two words 
revived all our hopes. We sent instantly for the doctor, who 
examined the patient, and pronounced that there was a slight 
amelioration. “Nature is a great physician,” added the old 
practitioner ; “ if this improvement continues through the night, 
he is saved.” My mother, in a transport of gratitude, threw 
herself at the old man’s feet, and bathed his hands with her 
tears. At that moment I regretted that I had not chosen the 
profession of medicine. 

In fact, the night passed calmly, and in the morning the de- 
lirium had entirely vanished ; but the exhaustion of the patient 

7 * 


154 


LORENZO BENONI. 


was SO great, that he could neither speak nor move for two 
whole days. His convalescence was tedious, but without any 
relapse. In one month from the day he took to bed, Csesar 
rose from it for the first time, and, leaning on my mother’s 
arm, could take a few steps in the room. As soon as he could 
bear the motion of a sedan-chair, my mother conveyed him to 
the country, where I joined them at the end of the scholastic 
year, and, to my great consolation, found my brother almost 
entirely recovered. 

My father must have bitterly regretted the harsh words he 
had uttered on the first evening of Caesar’s illness, and which 
had wounded my mother to the heart. He came several times 
and sat down by Caesar’s bedside, without speaking ; but hav- 
ing perceived the painful impression produced upon the patient 
by his presence, he confined himself to coming to the door, and 
making inquiries from time to time. As to the disagreement 
between Caesar and his employer he observed absolute silence, 
and neither uttered a word nor made any allusion to the sub- 
ject, but at the end of the holydays he asked Caesar what he 
intended to do. He answered that he wished to study medi- 
cine, which was agreed to. So he matriculated, gave the re- 
quired certificates, and was admitted without difficulty. As 
to me, I easily obtained the renewal of my ticket of admission, 
and on the first day of term Caesar and I walked together arm- 
in-arm to the university. 


THE UNIVERSITY ^ — A NEW CLOG. 


155 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

UNEXPECTED VISITATION, AND AWKWARD DILEMMA MY FATHER 

IS VERY ANGRY, AND BIDS ME BESTIR MYSELF. 

This year the university was really and truly opened. The 
professors, for whom the lectures given at 'their own houses 
had very serious inconveniences, had warmly remonstrated 
upon the subject with the provincial board of public instruc- 
tion, and the said provincial board had presented a report to 
their superiors the high commissioners for the reform of public 
instruction at Turin, who, after profound reflection, had made 
up their minds to introduce the wished-for change and to take 
the chance of the possible dangers which might accrue to the 
kingdom from the agglomeration of several hundreds of stu- 
dents, for some hours each day, in the same building. From 
this time, therefore, the lectures were delivered at the uni- 
versity. 

This novelty, with which we were very well pleased, brought 
about another much less to our satisfaction — the re-establish- 
ment of what was called the congregazioney that is, the meet- 
ing of the students to hear mass and pray in common on Sun- 
days and all church holydays. The attendance at divine 
service was obligatory. With the congregazione was re-estab- 
lished the office of prefetto of the congregazione — a priest, of 
course — one of whose special duties was to ascertain the pres- 
ence of the students. The following was the mode devised 
for this purpose : — 

Several wooden frames were hung against the wall. Each 
faculty, — law, medicine, theology, etc., etc., had one or more 
frames, in which were inserted long rows of movable pegs, 


156 


LORENZO BKNONI. 


upon which were inscribed the names of the students, one upon 
the head of each peg. Each student as he entered the con- 
gregazione declared to which faculty he belonged, and gave 
his name, while the prefetto, or an attendant, drew out the slip 
that bore it. The position of this wooden peg, drawn out or 
left in its place, served to prove the presence or the absence 
of the student. The signature of the prefetto of the congre- 
gazione was necessary to the renewal of the admittatur, and 
if absence could be proved against you twice in the three 
months, you lost your right to it. This was a new tether 
fastened to our legs. 

Truly prayer is a good thing, and prayer in common is a 
solemn duty, but as all times and all frames of mind are not 
equally fit for it, this, more than any other thing, should be 
left to the free will of each individual. At all events, I con- 
fess I do not understand prayer upon compulsion. Whether 
right or wrong, this at least was the opinion of most of the 
students, who received the new measure with the worst possi- 
ble grace. There occurred even at first some slight disorders 
expressive of the general dissatisfaction. Sometimes the whole 
congregation seemed simultaneously struck dumb, and no one 
made responses ; at others they would burst out with a sort of 
fury, shaking the windows like a roar of cannon. Sometimes 
during the sermon a universal fit of coughing, or an irresistible 
general sneezing came to drown the preacher’s voice. In 
truth, the service was endless, and took place twice in the day, 
morning and evening. As Sunday was the only holyday in 
the week we regretted sadly the loss of our liberty. It was 
hard enough in the bad season ; but when the fine weather 
returned, when the country showed itself in all its attractions, 
to be forced to give up spending the day out of town, according 
to general custom, rendered the tie that bound us within its 
walls doubly odious. It was still worse during the season of 
the greatest heat, and longest days. Then, indeed, the con- 
gregazione, especially after dinner, became intolerable. "We 
had to trot off to the university after a hasty meal, at three 
o’clock in the afternoon, the very hottest hour of the day, and 
at five o’clock we came out into the street, with four hours of 


ALL-ABSORBING OCCUPATION. 


157 


daylight before us. What in the world to do with ourselves 
we did not know. To take a walk for pleasure was quite out 
of the question, and to get home was no slight enterprise, for 
the university was out of the way, far from the centre of the 
town, where the immense majority of the students lived. 
There was nothing to be done but to go into a caffe, and wait 
for evening. 

As for myself and my brother Caesar, this inconvenience, 
which I think it is as well to mention, did not exist in our case 
The congregazione was no sooner over than we invariably 
went together with Fantasio to his house, and there spent the 
hottest hours of the afternoon. Fantasio lived near the piazza 
of the Acquaverde, at a little distance from the palace of the 
university, in a house situated on an eminence, which com- 
manded an extensive view over the town, and the sea beyond. 
Fantasio’s little apartments comprehended a room with an 
alcove, and a small drawing-room with a balcony, on which 
we used to sit, when the sun had left it, and court the breeze, 
and smoke our cigars. 

Two good thirds of this my second year of university studies 
passed smoothly enough. The only little difficulty I encoun- 
tered was wuth the prefetto of the congregazione. It is a cir- 
cumstance so trifling in itself that I have hesitated to mention 
it ; but as it forms a part of a system, and is highly illustra- 
tive of the way in which our superiors treated us, I think I 
may as well relate it. I w'ent one day to this prefetto to have 
my card of admittance signed. The prefetto lived in the 
palace of the university, at the very top of the building, and to 
get to his rooms one had to climb a hundred steps at least. 
He came himself to open the door, with his breviary in his 
hand. “ What do you want?” — “ I beg your pardon, will you 
be so good as to sign my card?” — “ I can not just now, I am 
repeating my breviary.” Now, to repeat the breviary, as any- 
body knows, is an occupation which a priest makes no scruple 
of interrupting fifty times running. Of this I was well aware 
by my own experience, many being the lectures and the slaps 
I had received from my uncle the canon between one verse of 
his breviary and another. “ It will only take a moment,” 


158 


IX>KENZO BENONI. 


urged I. “I tell you I can’t.” I still pressed the matter. 
The prefetto, who was an irritable splenetic man, got angry 
and said, “ You shall have my signature neither now nor after- 
ward.” He kept his word. Remonstrances and prayers were 
all in vain, and had it not been for my confessor, who inter- 
fered in my favor, and at last obtained the indispensable 
signature, I should be without it at this hour. 

This slight annoyance excepted, things were going smoothly 
enough with me, as I said, when one morning — it was the 
first Tuesday in June, I remember it as if it were yesterday — 
very early, while I was still in bed, I was awakened by a loud 
knocking at my door. “ There was a person,” said old Cate- 
rina, “ asking for me, and who was waiting below with a letter.” 
I desired the maid to go and bring up the letter, but the person 
said he had been ordered to deliver the paper into my own 
hands. I threw on my clothes, and hurried to see who it was. 
It turned out to be the under-porter of the university, a very 
young man, who seemed civil. He begged me to excuse the 
trouble he gave me, alleging the very strict injunctions he had 
received, and handed me a letter. “What is it?” said I. 
“ I know nothing about it,” answered the messenger ; “ all that 
I can tell you is, that I have four other letters to deliver, and 
all in person,” and saying this he went away. 

I looked at the outside of the letter; it was very large and 
very dirty, and bore the seal of the university. There were in 
one corner these words, “ to be delivered in person,” and I 
could distinguish through the paper the words “Secretary’s 
Office,” in printed letters. My heart misgave me. The fol- 
lowing were the contents of the letter : — 

*'• Secretary' s Office of the Royal University of Genoa. 

“ Sir : The High Provincial Board of Public Instruction, 

in its sitting of date the [the day before] has decreed 

that you shall be excluded from the lectures of the Royal 
university for the term of one entire scholastic year, that is to 
say, for nine months. 

“ That you may not remain in ignorance thereof, and 
according to the orders I have received, I have the honor to 


A THUNDEKBOLT. 


159 


acquaint you with the same, by these presents, which will be 
delivered into your own hands. 

“ The Secretary of the Royal 
University of Genoa. 

“Iliustrissimo Padrone Colendissimo 

Signor Lorenzo Benoni, Law-student'^ 

A Nota Bene explained at full length that the three months 
of vacation (then just approaching) were not counted in the 
nine months of exclusion to which I was condemned, and that 
the time would not end till the first Monday of June in the 
following year. 

I was perfectly thunder-struck. What vile trick could this 
he ? A year lost, and for what ? I rubbed my eyes, hoping 
to awake from an evil dream. I examined anew the address 
on the letter, to assure myself that there was no mistake. It 
bore exactly my name and Christian name, the name of the 
street, and the number of the house I lived in. What crime, 
then, could I have unconsciously committed ? I had, to be 
sure, a recent slight peccadillo on my conscience, which I will 
presently explain, but which, suppose it were known, could 
only have brought upon me a passing lecture, to say the most. 
I ran to the secretary’s office. I will at least know why I 
am punished. Perhaps there is some mistake, which I can 
explain away, perhaps I may exculpate myself entirely. At 
the bottom of my heart I knew that this could not be. By 
too long experience I was aware, that an injustice, even when 
acknowledged, was never repaired. But such is human na- 
ture, that to help ourselves to bear a misfortune we feel an 
instinctive necessity of indulging in false hopes: It was early, 
and the secretary was not yet at his post. I waited for him 
in the street to be sure of not missing him. At last he 
appeared and I went up to him,, and with assumed calmness, 
belied by the trembling of my voice, begged to know what 
was the fault for which I was punished by the loss of a whole 
year. “ No one could know better than myself,” answered 
the secretary. bluntly, and passed on ; but I was too earnest 
to let him escape thus, so I followed at his heels. “ I take 
my oath that I have no more idea what my fault may be 


160 


LOKKNZO BENONI. 


tlian the babe unborn. Surely if I am punished I may at 
least be told for what offence. The greatest criminal in the 
world has a right to know why he is hanged. The motives 
of my condemnation are no doubt registered in the minutes 
of the sitting of the board, dated the day before yesterday. 
These minutes I demand to see, and you can not refuse my 
request.” 

“ This was a thing quite impossible ; the sittings of the 
board were secret ; to communicate the minutes would be a 
gross dereliction of duty.” With reasons of this description, 
the secretary shut the door of his office, to which I had followed 
him, in my face. 

I was rushing down the steps of the university, in a state of 
excitement not easy to imagine, when I met a fellow-student. 
“ What is the matter with you ?” said he, “ you seem quite 
upset.” 

“ And well I may be. The matter is, that I am excluded 
from the university for a year, and I do not know why.” 

“ It might have fared still worse with you,” returned he, 
and he named two of our companions expelled altogether, and 
some others excluded like myself for a year. “ It is last Sun- 
day’s affair, you know.” At these words the veil fell from my 
eyes. 

Some considerable disturbance had occuiTed at the congre- 
gazione of the preceding Sunday, and I was the victim of a 
false accusation ; or else, not having been able to find out the 
real culprits, they had dealt their blows at random. There 
remained no doubt I was a scape-goat. 

Divine service at the university chapel had been inter- 
rupted, on the preceding Sunday, by a singular incident. In 
the very middle of mass, such an insupportable stench had 
spread around the chief altar and the choir, that the officia- 
ting priest had been obliged to interrupt the service, and take 
refuge in the vestry. Upon inspection, there was found be- 
hind the main altar a quantity of gaggia seeds, which had 
been masticated, and scattered in several places. Gaggia is 
the name given to a shmb of the acacia species (jnimosa 
Farnesianajy which bears a little downy ball-like yellow flower, 


AN IMPOSSIBLE ALIBI. 


161 


powerfully fragrant. Its seed, if masticated and left in an 
enclosed space, after a time gives forth a most nauseous smell, 
and becomes pestiferous. 

The scandal caused by this occurrence was sufficiently serious 
to induce Mr. Merlini, who, as usual, was acting commissioner 
for the month, to convoke the whole board, a tiling which 
hardly ever happened. Upon what sort of information they 
had proceeded to pronounce various penalties upon several 
students, I do not pretend to say ; all I know is, that, with 
respect to me, they fell into a complete mistake, for on the 
fatal Sunday I had Tiot attended the congregation. 

The minute precautions I have already detailed, the aim 
of which was to prove the presence or the absence of each 
student, had not obviated fraud. “ Fatta la legge, trovata la 
maiizia'^ (the law is no sooner made than the infraction of it 
ensues), says a sad Italian proverb, which only means, that 
my unfortunate country has possessed more bad than good 
laws ; for this is the greatest evil of vexatious restrictive laws, 
that they sharpen everybody’s wits to elude them — an exer- 
cise of ingenuity little calculated to enhance good morals. In 
the beginning it was the prefetto, or one of his assistants, who 
used to draw out the slide containing the student’s name, which 
certified his presence ; but by degrees discipline had relaxed 
on this point, and it became customary for the student, under 
the eye of the prefetto or assistant, to draw out the wooden 
peg himself. This greater laxity gave rise to the following 
abuse : — Two students, whose names were altogether on the 
list, would agree beforehand that only one should go to the 
congregation, and dexterously draw out two pegs, his own and 
the one of his absent friend. This was a little service which 
we occasionally rendered to each other by turns. Now, it 
happened that on that fatal Sunday, when the scandal I have 
mentioned occurred, I had made an agreement with my neigh- 
bor on the list, that he should draw out my slip for me, and 
consequently I had not been to the congregation. 

Then, you could easily prove the alibi, you will say. Not 
so fast, reader. First of all, I do not exactly know how 
pleading an alibi could have availed, in presence of the over- 


162 


LORKNZO BKNONI. 


whelming evidence of the peg. But, supposing it might, 
would not the argument have put the university authorities 
on the trace of the scheme which was useful to so many ? 
I very much doubt, then, that I should have had recourse to 
this proof, even had my alibi been as innocent as a babe un- 
born ; but mine, alas, was a shameful alibi, one that shunned 
the face of day. For, since I must confess the truth, that 
whole Sunday morning I had passed in giving a lesson of 
modesty at billiards to one of my fellow-students, who had 
boasted that he was quite willing at any time to give me two 
points out of sixteen — a lesson which cost me dear enough, 
since, to say nothing of the loss of a whole year, and all the 
consequent family vexations, it entailed upon me the galling 
mortification of having' to put up with a flagrant injustice, 
without the comfort of proving to those who had inflicted it, 
their odious absurdity. 

Vainly did I think, and think, and think ; I could devise no 
means of getting out of this scrape. There was nothing to be 
done but to sit down and patiently await the end of the year. 
Would to God I could have acted according to my judgment! 
How many humiliations I should have spared myself ! But 
it was otherwise decreed. 

Fantasio, on whom I called for a few minutes, and to whom 
I related my mischance, with all the complicating circum- 
stances, judged of the situation exactly as I did. “It is a 
dilemma without an issue,” said Fantasio. “You can not call 
as witnesses a coffeehouse keeper, and two or three of your 
companions supposed at the time to have been at the congre- 
gation. That would be absurd, and of no avail. Bear it like 
a man ; that is all you can do.” 

It was now near dinner-time, and I must go home. The 
thought, “How shall I manage with my father?” which had 
haunted me the whole morning, became agonizing now that 
the moment of trial was at hand. My legs would scarcely 
carry me. “ Provided he knows nothing of it already ; if he 
does, it will be a most terrible affair I” My chief anxiety was 
to avoid one of those dreadful family scenes, of which I had had 
a sample at the time of Caesar’s disagreement with his em- 


MY FATHER AT HOME AND ABROAD. 


163 


ployer. I reached home very much depressed. I told all and 
everything to my mother and to Csesar, who did their best to 
raise my spirits. Fortunately my father knew nothing of the 
matter, and dinner passed off quietly. In the warm season 
my father was accustomed to retire to his room after dinner, to 
indulge in a short siesta. I took courage, and followed him 
unperceived. Just as he came to the door, I said, “ I wish 
to speak with you, sir, if you please.” He motioned to me 
to go in. 

Time, I am sorry to say, had not improved my father’s 
temper, at least at home. I say purposely at home, for it would 
be a mistake to believe, that he wore abroad the same stern 
knitted brow which he invariably showed in-doors. On the 
contrary, my father was a conversable, merry companion, 
never without his jest, and, as such, a great favorite both 
with high and low ; so that, in all that transpired of our 
family disagreements, public opinion always declared itself in 
his favor, and all the blame (of course we had our good share) 
was laid at our door. “ What a pity,” said our neighbors, “ that 
such an easy, companionable man, should have such undutiful 
«ons !” 

My father’s temper, as I have said, had become much soured, 
especially since Caesar’s brain fever. The gloom of offended 
majesty hung always upon his brow. His words, when he 
chanced to speak to any of us, were generally tinged with 
bitterness. On our part, the fear of irritating him involun- 
tarily, and giving rise to some painful scene, kept us constantly 
on our guard, and, as far as we could do it without affectation, 
we remained silent in his presence. From this mutually un- 
pleasant disposition, had sprung up a state of permanent re- 
straint and embarrassment in all reciprocal intercourse, which 
rendered the interview I was seeking singularly distressing. 

“What do you want?” asked my father in a tone of icy 
coldness, standing in the middle of the room, as a hint that he 
wished me to be brief I began, much intimidated — 

“ I received a letter this morning, which it is my duty to 
make known to you. I regret that it is a disagreeable com- 
munication.” 


164 


LOKENZO BENOXr. 


“ You may spare all rhetorical preface,” replied my father ; 
“ it is long since you have accustomed me to expect nothing 
good of you. What is the matter now 

“ Here is the letter,” rejoined I, “ hut before you read it, 
allow me to ask one favor; which is, that you will listen to me 
for a single minute, after you shall have become acquainted 
with the contents.” My father, without yielding to, or refusing 
my request, took the letter, which I held toward him, and ran 
his eyes over it. “ You’ll never he satisfied,” cried he, in a 
tone of concentrated passion, while he crushed the paper be- 
tween his fingers, “ till you have been the death of me. Get 
out of my sight !” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, father, he calm, and hearken to me !” 

“ Get along with you, I say ; rid me of your presence. I 
will listen to nothing; I will hear nothing!” and he went 
toward the door to leave the room. 

The consciousness of injured innocence gave me courage. 
I placed myself between him and the door, saying, “ Trample 
on me if you will, hut hear me. I deserve your pity, and not 
your anger. Do not bruise one who is already so deeply 
wounded. As true as there is a God in heaven, I am inno- 
cent !” And I hurst into tears. 

“ Don’t fancy you can impose on me. You may spare your 
tears and your lies !” 

“ God is my witness that I speak the truth !” rejoined I with 
great warmth ; “ I am punished for a supposed participation in 
the disturbance which occurred at the congregation last Sunday. 
I was not present.” 

No sooner had I uttered these words than I felt that I had 
gone further than I meant to do. I would willingly have 
retreated, but it was too late. 

“ You were not present ?” said my father, much softened. 
“Well, if what you say is true, all may be set right. It will 
be easy for you to prove that you were not present. Where 
were you ?” 

There was no drawing hack now, I must needs drink the 
cup to the very dregs. 

“ I was in a place where I ought not to have been. I will 


EXPIATION. 


165 


tell you everything, but have some indulgence for me and I 
made my sincere and entire confession. The storm, hitherto 
suspended, now burst over my head in full fury. My father 
hurled the bitterest reproaches at me. I was, according to 
his words, a gamester past redemption, a hardened spendthrift, 
an habitual frequenter of hells, a disgrace to my family, and 
the shame of his gray hair. 

I received this hail-storm of invectives without compunction, 
I allow, for I felt I was not in the slightest degree what he 
described me to be ; but I listened with entire submission. I 
did not utter one word, nor venture the least extenuation of 
my fault. I had been wrong, and this was an expiation. So 
far right. Tired at last of pouring out his wrath, my father 
took his hat, and went away. I had been loaded with abuse, 
but I had spared my mother and my brothers a disagreeable 
scene, and that was a great comfort. 

Next day my father never addressed himself to me, nor 
even once looked toward me ; but the following morning he 
came into my room. “Well,” said he, “did you take any 
steps yesterday?” 

“ None,” replied I. 

“ You really take the thing with a composure which is" vastly 
philosophical, certainly, but not a little provoking,” rejoined 
my father, fretting. 

“Pray, advise me, sir; put me in the way; tell me what I 
can do, and I will do it.” 

“You say so with an air of resignation, as if you were 
required to make a sacrifice for a stranger, and yet it seems to 
me it is your own business.” 

“ So it is ; but, excuse me, there is no will wanting on my 
part ; only really I do not see what there is to be done, unless 
I were to attempt to prove an alihi, which would expose me to 
the gossip of the whole town.” 

“ Who proposed any such thing ? That is what you always 
do. You put bitterness into the matter; there is no getting 
you to talk calmly.” 

I saw that the only way of avoiding r storm was to liold my 
tongue, so I remained silent. Sliortly afterward, my father 


166 


LOHKNZO BEXONI. 


resumed — “There are a hundred ways to try; first of all, to 
see the commissioners of the provincial board. Perhaps they 
will listen to reason. After having condemned you, they can 
not refuse to hear what you have to say in your defence. You 
must bestir yourself, I say. The worst thing you can do is to 
sit with your hands folded, as you are doing.” 

My father, I regret to say, did not understand the dignity 
which there is in submitting silently and Avithout complaint to 
an inevitable eAul. Caesar, wrapping his toga around him, to 
die decorously, instead of attempting an impossible defence, 
would have appeared ridiculous in his eyes. 

I bowed my head, and merely answered, “I will go and see 
the commissioners of the board.” 


I DO ALL THAT A MAN CAN DO. 


16T 


CHAPTER XIX. 

INJUSTICE AND OPPRESSION BEGET THE SPIRIT OP REVOLT 

UNCLE JOHN PREACHES TO THE WINDS. 

And in fact I did go. Not one of the commissioners, except 
Mr. Merlina, condescended to receive me. The most civil con- 
tented themselves with sending me notice that there was an 
acting commissioner for the month, charged to take oognizance 
of all communications relative to the affairs of the university, 
and that it was to him I ought to address myself. 

I did not give up the point ; I was determined to drain the 
hitter draught. I knew that there was to he an extraordinary 
convocation of the hoard at the university. I waited in the 
street for the members, and addressed them one hy one, hat in 
hand. The greater number would not even give me a moment’s 
hearing. I was dismissed like a troublesome beggar. From 
one or two of the most humane I got a few hasty words, such 
as, “ I really can do nothing in the matter,” — “ The board has 
given its decision,” — “ See my colleagues,” accompanied by a 
gesture, plainly signifying “Enough!” 

Eveiy feeling of manly dignity was crushed and bleeding 
within me. To know oneself to be innocent, and yet to 
receive, as it were, slaps in the face from those of whom one is 
the victim, is a sore trial, which I wish to, nobody, not even to 
my bitterest enemy. And truly the floods of indignation 
which overflowed my soul at this unworthy treatment, had no 
bounds. I knew that day what it is to hate. 

Still I did not desist. I had made up my mind to be able 
to say to my fatlier, “ I have done all that a man can do.” So 
I composed a letter as respectful and calm as possible, in which 
I maintained my innocence, and begged to be confronted with 


168 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


my accusers. I showed this to iny father Avho approved of it 
highly. I made as many copies as there were members of the 
board of public instruction, and left a copy at the house of 
each, though in more than one case I found it difficult to pro- 
cure admission for them. The servants, of course, were 
more rude and insolent than their masters. Not one of the 
gentlemen thus addressed made any answer, nor even acknowl- 
edged my communication. 

This letter softened my father for a time. He took a copy, 
and circulated it with much pride among his friends. Strange 
but true, my father, who certainly did not spoil us by too 
much tenderness, was vain of our talents, and plumed himself 
upon any success we might achieve. The human heart is a 
strange medley, gnazzabuglio, as Manzoni says. 

Mr. Merlini, the ever-acting commissioner for the month, 
was, as I have said, the only one of the gentlemen of the 
board who deigned to receive me. He was, I suppose, in a 
merry mood, and would not lose an opportunity of enjoying a 
joke. Mr. Merlini, as I have said before, was a funny man. 
There was in him a rare compound of the ape and the hyena. 
He positively played with us as a cat plays with a mouse, with 
the same nicety, the same ingenious ferocity, the same intense 
relish. He hated us all because we were young. He inflicted 
injury with delicate refinement, and for the sole pleasure of 
the exercise. Thus, for instance, his ante-chamber, in which 
Heaven knows what long hours we had to wait, was always 
hermetically closed in summer, and open in winter to every 
wind that blew. He would let a student leave his presence 
quite reassured, whose sentence of rustication or expulsion he 
would sign a quarter of an hour afterward, or had indeed 
perhaps already signed. He would send away tendfied at 
some expression designedly dropped, another, who had in fact 
nothing to fear. 

Mr. Merlini received me with great amenity. “ In what 
could he be of service to Mr. Farini pretending to mistake 
me for another. “ I beg your pardon, sir, my name is Benoni.” 
“ Ah ! true, my memory is so we.ak it was as strong as iron. 
“ Well, how can I be of service to Mr. Benoni — “ He could 


SIKKLIM PLAYFUL. 


169 


be of great service to me,” answered I respectfully, “by giving 
me the means of bringing to light my innocence, and over- 
throwing the false allegations on which my condemnation had 
been grounded.” 

The good man looked as if he had fallen from the clouds. 
He pretended to be completely ignorant of the whole affair, or 
rather, he averred that such a thing had never passed. Surely, 
there must be some mistake ! I was obliged to explain every 
detail, to go over again each and all of the circumstances, 
which he knew much better than myself : the date of the 
sitting of the board, that of the letter from the secretary, the 
nature of the penalty, and the cause to which it was attributed 
by public rumor. I wound up my account by protesting my 
innocence most energetically. Mr. Merlini listened with a 
chuckle of delight. 

“ You have,” said he, “ such a clear method of stating a 
case, that I think I do recollect something about the business 
you have mentioned. You plead not guilty, of course — it is 
your full right so to do. What culprit is fool enough to avow 
himself such ? ih ! ih ! ih! — you put me in mind of my last 
cause before the criminal court, in which I made a speech, I 
must allow, though I say it who should not, that obtained a 
brilliant success. The case was that of a parricide. The 
evidence against us was overwhelming. My man took it in 
his head to plead guilty. ‘ You shall do no such thing,’ 
said I, as his good luck would have it, for upon my speech in 
his defence, he was acquitted.” And Mr. Merlini chuckled 
again. 

Truth to say, I did not very well see the connection of this 
anecdote with the matter in hand, but I did not tell him so. 
“ You say you are innocent,” resumed Mr. Merlini ; “ all very 
right, but where is the proof of your assertion V’ 

“ I keg your pardon, sir, but is it not the part of the accuser 
to prove culpability? innocence needs not to be proved — it is 
always presumed, is it not ?” 

“ Capital, perfectly well said, closely argued, my dear Mr. 
Benoni. It is easy to see that you have a lawyer’s blood in 
your veins, and it does my heart good to see the progress 

8 


170 


LORENZvO BI:N0NT. 


you make. Only in your case, my dear sir, be so good as to 
remark that the tribunal has pronounced its judgment, and that 
therefore there is what we call res judicata, ih ! ih ! ih ! — ” 

“ But if the tribunal has passed condemnation without giving 
the accused a hearing 

“ That depends, my dear sir, upon the exceptional nature of 
the tribunal. The board of public instmction is a kind of 
paternal magistracy, which is presumed never to prevaricate, 
and against whose decisions there is no appeal — you see?’’ 
said Mr. Merlini, this time with a grin. 

“Be it so,” rejoined I, “but can not the board of public 
instruction, when better informed, rescind its own decisions ?” 

“ For such a thing to happen there must be serious motives, 
very serious motives. Now let us be frank. You interest me, 
and I would wish to serve you. To obtain the indulgence of 
the board, you must merit it, sir ; and there is but one way to 
do so, and that is, to tell me here, quite between ourselves, in 
perfect confidence and secrecy, as if in confession, the names 
of the authors of last Sunday’s disturbance.” 

“ Inform against my companions ?” said I with a start. 
“ Even if I knew them, which I do not, nothing could induce 
me to be guilty of so base an action !” 

Mr. Merlini ceased to be velvet-pawed, and put forth his 
claws. “ You do know them,” said he, “ and you are one of 
the number. And even if you were not, the detestable words 
you have just uttered make you their moral accomplice. Go, 
sir, you receive but what you deserve.” 

What answer could be made to logic of this kind? I at- 
tempted none, and giving the worthy commissioner no oppor- 
tunity to bid me twice begone, I departed, full to the brim of 
disgust and indignation. 

I gave a faithful account of all the endeavors I had made, 
and of their fruitlessness, to my father, who, by way of com- 
fort, told me I had not known how to set about it. From that 
day I endured a martyrdom like that of the saint who was 
slowly broiled upon a gridiron. A running fire of cutting 
words, of bitter sarcasms, of transparent allusions, w'as contin- 
ually kept up at me. If anything went wrong at home, it was 


it’s aij. my fault. 


in 


my fault ; if it was bad weather for three days together, it 
was laid to my lawless conduct. Sometimes I was struck with 
a sort of admiration at my father’s untiring perseverance and 
ingenuity. Time had no effect upon him ; he made a handle 
of everything. Was it cold, hot, or rainy, “ rain, heat, and 
cold little mattered for those who could sit comfortably at 
home.” Each holyday invariably brought the remark, that 
“ every day was a holyday for some people.” Did apples or 
peaches appear at table, “they were so much like billiard 
balls — were they not?” In a word, my father’s fertility of 
invention was inexhaustible. 

A would-be thundering letter from my uncle the canon came 
to add fuel to the fire. It was read and commented upon, and 
Heaven knows with what bitterness, in my presence. But 
what was far worse was, a few days after, the arrival of my 
uncle in person. The worthy canon’s head had never been of 
the strongest, and the ten years which had elapsed from the 
time I had served mass for him, had not improved it. One of 
his foibles, which I think I have omitted to note, was to believe 
that his presence could set everything to rights. His favorite 
expression on all great occasions was, “ I’ll go myself!” and 
he had come. 

With him the very devil came into the house. His lec- 
tures to me were endless, and I must say, to my own credit, 
that I listened to them with a patience and a meekness that 
made me wonder at myself. Sometimes, however, the trial 
was too great, for human endurance has its limits. Then 
came frightful scenes. I think I still hear the shrill treble of 
the canon’s voice, swearing by all the gods that he would dis- 
inherit us all, and reduce us to beggary. My father declared 
for his part that he was tired of sacrificing himself for a set of 
ungrateful children, and that he would retire into the country. 

Such scenes made all of us indeed, but my poor mother 
especially, inexpressibly wretched. She was indefatigable in 
her efforts to console me, and so were Csesar, Fantasio, and 
dear Uncle John, who had warmly espoused my cause, and 
whose kindness was unceasing ; but this sympathy was as a 
drop of honey in a vase full of bitters. My home was become 


172 


LORENZO BENONI. 


odious to me, and, except at meal times, I was always out, 
either at Fantasio’s, or with Uncle John. “ Courage, my dear 
fellow," would this kind fellow say to me, when he saw me 
unusually depressed — ♦ 

“Stft, come torre, fermo che non crolla 
Giammai la cima per soffiar di venti.”* 

“ Don’t give those blockheads, Merlini & Co., the satisfac* 
tion of putting you out of spirits. Let it be your revenge to 
feel that you are worth a thousand of them." 

“ Why, uncle, I confess that I should prefer some less phil- 
osophical and more solid vengeance." 

“ And what good would that do you or anybody ? Suppose 
you could even cut off the heads of the whole board, you still 
would have done nothing. New Merlinis would start up, and 
fill their places. Merlini & Co. are the fruit of the tree, my 
dear boy, the evil lies at the root." 

At last, when it pleased God, my uncle the canon went 
away, and I enjoyed a little comparative peace. I had still 
before me nine months of forced leisure, and I tried to make 
occupation for myself. I wrote successively a legend in 
stanzas of six lines — a sort of thing Tommaso Grossi had just 
brought into fashion by his lldegonda — next a tragedy, and 
then a comedy. It was always the same subject under differ- 
ent forms — the reflection of the state of my soul. An innocent 
man who struggles, protests, and falls, crushed by triumphant 
oppressors. I devoured every Italian or French translation 
of the works of Shakspere, Goethe, and Schiller, I could lay 
my hands on. The burning passion that breathes in every 
line of the last, held me captive. I read over and over with 
a sort of frenzy of delight his more juvenile productions, “ the 
Minister," and “ the Robbers." I had a positive passion for 
the philanthropic highwayman, Charles Moor, whose image 
was quite irresistible to me, and haunted me day and night. 

* Be as a tower, that, firmly set, 

Shakes not its top for any blast that blows. 

Cary's Translation. 


THE IIETAIREIA. 


173 


A book of another description, the History of the Regenera- 
tion of Modern Greece, by a French author, I read with intense 
interest and emotion. It developed in me, as if by magic, the 
germs of feeling which till then had existed only in a latent 
state, and gave a definite form to hitherto vague aspirations. 
A people of heroes who tear asunder the bonds of slavery, 
claim their nationality, and found their liberty upon the 
smoking ruins of their principal cities ! What a sublime 
spectacle! — what a lesson, especially for us, the heirs and 
continuators of Greek civilization — for us once so great, now 
so little — for us, like the Greeks, divided, crushed, writhing 
under foreign dominion 1 I had not waited till that day to 
feel and deplore the wrongs of my country ; but never had 
the conception of a remedy presented itself to my mind in so 
clear and attractive a form. 

This History of the Greek Revolution told at full length the 
beginnings and the successful development of a secret associa- 
tion called Hetaireia. Founded by three obscure young men, 
Scoufas, Kontos, and Diceo, the Hetaireia spread rapidly to* 
all points of the territory, and made its way to all classes. 
The Klephts especially, a warlike mountain race, electrified 
by the national songs of Riga, the modern Tyrtseus of Greece, 
came into the association in a mass. The Hetairists used to 
meet in the churches, to prostrate themselves before the altars, 
and there exchange their arms. They took each other by the 
hand, formed a mysterious chain, and pronounced the follow- 
ing words : “ Thy life is my life, thy soul is my soul and 
by this oath they put all things in common. The Hetaireia 
reckoned among its adherents names which have since be- 
come historic, such as Botzari, Kiriacouli, Michele Condu- 
rioti, Maurocordato, Ypsilanti, and many others, of whom the 
greater number have since paid their debt to their country by 
dying in her cause. 

This mystery — the association of religion with liberty — 
this devotion of one to all, of all to one — the heroic end of so 
many noble hearts, inflamed my imagination. I naturally 
compared impressions with Cajsar and Fantasio, an interchange 
in no way calculated to calm the effervescence of my mind. 


174 


LORENZO BENONI. 


“No cold faint-hearted doubtings” ever troubled onr friend, 
whose confidence in man was great, and in himself unlimited. 
I was, on the contrary, rather deficient in both, and this 
among so many points of sympathy, constituted the principal 
difference between us. 

“ Are we not,” Fantasio would say, “ twenty -four millions 
of men 1 Are we less intelligent, less brave than the Greeks 1 
Read the history of our own times and you will see of what 
Italians are capable when well directed and commanded — you 
will see the miracles of valor achieved in Spain, in Russia, 
everywhere, by our Italian legions. Is the foreign yoke which 
weighs upon us, less heavy, less degrading than that which 
crushed the Greeks ? Do we bear it with greater patience ? 
What, then, is wanting to enable us to do what the Greeks 
have done? Nothing, but that we should understand each 
other. We want a Hetaireia, that is all. 

These sentiments, and others of the same stamp, were 
generally expressed before a small circle of intimate friends, 
of which Caesar, Sforza (my old school-fellow), and I, formed 
a part. Fantasio’s enthusiasm and burning passion became 
contagious. Caesar chimed in harmoniously. Sforza, in whom 
an ardent and most excitable mind was concealed under a 
cold exterior, considered Fantasio’s statements as a mathe- 
matical demonstration. I was the only one who hazarded 
some objections, or started some doubts. But this was a feeble 
obstacle, which the passionate eloquence of Fantasio bore down 
in a moment. From this time forward, politics absorbed our 
thoughts, and furnished the subject of our daily conversations. 

This new bent could not escape the penetration of my Uncle 
John, before whom I never scrupled to attack the government 
with the greatest vehemence, and who set himself with all his 
might to stop me in that course. “ You see things,” he would 
sometimes say, “ not as they are, but as your imagination 
paints them. Pretty nearly every one, I allow, despises and 
detests the government, but it does not thrive the less for that. 
Analyze society, and tell me where you see those manly vir- 
tues, that spirit of self-sacrifice, which regenerate nations. 
Look at our nobles, for instance. The old men sulk at the 


EXPEEIICNOIO VERSUS ENrilUSTASM. 


175 


government ; do you think it is from the love of liberty ? 
Pslmw ! they do so because they would like to hold the reins 
themselves. The young ones think only of their horses and 
their mistresses. The middle class is eaten up by selfishness ; 
each individual man is engrossed by his ofiice, or his counting- 
house, or his clients — all, in general, by the rage for making 
money. Number One is their god.” 

“ But the people, uncle 

“ I come to them next. The people are ignorant and super- 
stitious (it is not by their own fault, to be sure, but they are 
so), and therefore the slaves of the priests, those born enemies 
of all progress. The people hear mass in the morning and get 
drunk at night, and think, notwithstanding, that all is right 
with God and their conscience. What then remains ? A cer- 
tain number of young men, crammed with Greek and Roman 
history ; enthusiastic, generous — I do not deny it — but per- 
fectly incapable of doing anything, but getting themselves 
hanged. Absence of virtue, my dear boy, is synonymous with 
impotence. The mass is rotten at the core, I tell you. Sup- 
pose, for a moment, that you could make tahula rasa -of that 
which exists, what would you build with such materials'? An 
edifice which rests upon decayed rafters is faulty in its founda- 
tions, and will crumble with the first shock. The evil is at 
the very root of society.” 

“ Well, then,” cried I, vehemently, “ let us attack the evil 
at its root.” 

“Are you in earnest?” said my uncle, rising in alarm, and 
biting his nails ; “ do you think that society can be turned like 
a pancake ? Why, the boy is on the straight road to the Os- 
pedaletto .'” (the Bedlam of Genoa.) 

“ But, uncle, if to find fault with the fruit of the tree is use- 
less, and to attack the root is madness, anything like progress 
is impossible, and one has nothing to do but to fold one’s hands 
in despair.” 

“ That is not what 1 say. Progress comes of itself ; Provi- 
dence wills it so. There are in the moral world, as well as in 
the physical, mysterious principles at -work unknown to our- 
selves, and even in spite of ourselves. Thanks to this latent 


1T6 


LORKNZO BENONI. 


working, tilings arc l^etter to-day than they were a hundred, 
or even fifty years ago, and fifty years hencje you who are 
young will see still further improvement. One must take pres- 
ent evil with patience, and give time leisure to do its work. 
Let each in his humble sphere try to become better, and ren- 
der better those around him. There, and only there, lies the 
corner-stone of our future regeneration. As for me, my dear 
friend, when, in the first shop into which I may happen to go, I 
am only asked the fair price or thereabouts of the article I go 
to buy, I shall consider my country to have made a more impor- 
tant conquest than if it had given itself all the institutions of 
Sparta, and of Athens into the bargain.” 

There was in these statements of my uncle a portion of truth 
and a portion of exaggeration, and unfortunately the latter 
weakened the former. Then, Uncle John was in my eyes 
somewhat of a misanthrope, and consequently his advice had 
less weight with me than it deserved. But had it even been 
otherwise, the most consumm^ate wisdom and experience would 
probably have been lost upon one whose moral sense was each 
day revolted, and whose blood was every instant made to boil, 
by the workings of a government, of which it might he truly 
said, in the words of Mr. Gladstone, that it “ set up as a sys- 
tem the negation of God !” 

Two incidents that befell me, one immediately after the 
other, will find here their proper place. The reader will see 
whether they were likely to reconcile me to the existing order 
of things. 


CONVENT OF BUON RITIRO SPIRITUAL EXERCISES. 177 


CHAPTER XX. 

AN OLD FRIEND IN A SAD PLIGHT TENDER SOLICITUDE OF THE 

CARABINEERS LEST THE CITIZENS SHOULD CATCH COLD. 

It is customary in Italy for pious people, or such as wish to 
appear so, to attend, during Passion week, a course of extra 
religious lectures and prayers, called “ Spiritual Exercises” or 
Retreat” which go on at that period in almost every parish- 
church. These exercises were obligatory upon the students, 
and a course of them took place, during three days, for their 
especial use, in the church of the university. The time for the 
exercises having naturally come round during my year of rus- 
tication, I could not and did not attend them, nor did I think 
3f fulfilling these extra duties in any of the parish-churches 
jf the town. 

So I was not a little at a loss when, my term of exclusion 
being come to an end, I was asked, besides other certificates 
which I had produced, for one testifying that I had gone 
through the “Spiritual Retreat.” Fortunately, the secretary 
happened to be in good humor that day, and gave me a hint 
how to repair the omission. There was the convent Buon 
Ritiro, said he, in which there was a course of spiritual exer- 
cises going on at that moment, for the benefit of a certain 
number of novices preparing to take the vows. The secretary 
assured me that the laity also were admitted without difficulty, 
and would even find board and lodging gratis (nominally so, 
for in fact it was the custom to make a present on leaving, 
which amply repaid the hospitality received) ; and that if I 
went there, and brought him back a certificate, there would be 
no difficulty in the way of my readmission. I thanked the 

8 * 


178 


LO!n:x:(> lii'.N* xi. 

secretary very mnch, and Avcni off immediately to tlie convent 
he had mentioned, where my request was granted without 
hesitation, and thither I retired for four days. 

One evening — it was at the end of the second day — I was 
attending the “ Meditation.” The church was buried in dark- 
ness, and I was kneeling against a confessional, when I was 
startled by a voice close to my ear. “ Don^t stir !” whispered 
the voice ; “ I am Vadoni. I want to speak with you. Leave 
the door of your room ajar to-night. Tell me in what passage 
you are lodged, and the number of your room.” — “No. 5, Pas- 
sage B, on the right, second floor.” 

Vadoni, it will be remembered, was one of my schoolfellows 
— the rat-hunter. I had scarcely met him since leaving col- 
lege, and for two years had lost sight of him altogether, and 
indeed almost forgotten his existence. My curiosity was there- 
fore excited, and I could not shut my eyes, though I had to 
wait for him a long time. At length he appeared. His pale- 
ness, his haggard features and sunken eyes, told a sad tale. 
We had several hours’ conversation, the substance of which I 
shall condense into as few lines as possible. 

Vadoni’s history is that of more young people than may he 
imagined, even now-a-days. He had neither father nor mother. 
His sole relation was an old bigoted uncle, with whom he went 
to live when expelled from college. His uncle was a hard, 
dry-hearted miser, who grudged his nephew every mouthful 
he ate, and allowed him barely what was necessary for exist- 
ence. Cold and dreary indeed was the poor hoy’s lif#^ under 
this niggardly and melancholy roof. His uncle’s s*^ ciety was 
entirely composed of priests and monks, and with one of these 
latter Vadoni became rather intimate. The monk belonged 
to the convent of Buon Bitiro, where he often induced the lad 
to go and see him. Vadoni’s acquaintance extended in course 
of time among the brotherhood, and he made a great friend of 
the superior of the convent. Everything looked so clean and 
neat, and every one was so kind and good-natured to him, 
that the convent soon appeared a paradise compared to the 
hell in which he lived. Vadoni was a weak-minded youth. 
His new friends excited his religious tendencies : they showed 


TADONI — A lilCiOTED OLD MISER. 


179 


him his expulsion from college in the light of a warning from 
God to withdraw from the jjerils of the world ; in short, they 
.managed so well, that he fancied himself called to a monastic 
life. His uncle, of course, encouraged him; and poor Vadoni, 
at twenty years of age, entered the convent of Buon Bitiro, to’ 
begin his noviciate. 

Six months of that life sufficed to open his eyes. He never 
had had a real vocation for the cloister. What he had seen, 
and still more what he had guessed, had completely dissipated 
the illusion which had led him toward it, and disgusted him 
for ever. He went to the superior, candidly opened to him 
the state of his mind, and demanded permission to leave the 
convent. Now, this did not at all suit the views of the supe- 
rior, who had good reason to wish to make a monk of him. 

The moving springs of old Vadoni’s life were an immoder- 
ate love of money, and an intense fear of hell. To satisfy the 
first, without falling foul of the second, the old miser had 
planned bequeathing all his property, which was considerable, 
to the convent of Buon Ritiro ; hut on one condition, which 
was, that the superior of the said convent should induce Va- 
doni the younger to take the vows. The old man had still 
sufficient fear of the opinion of the world not to like the idea 
of leaving his nephew totally unprovided for. As a monk, 
young Vadoni could not inherit ; while the community to which 
he would belong, as a body corporate, could. Such was the 
bargain agreed upon. All these particulars had been revealed 
to young Vadoni by a brother-novice, who had lately died of 
consumption, or rather of a broken heart. This unfortunate 
young man, while thought to be in the agonies of death, had 
overheard a conversation between old Vadoni and the superior, 
which had made him acquainted with the whole scheme. Now, 
every one can see the interest the superior had in not letting 
the lad escape out of his clutches. 

So he left no means untried to divert him from his purpose 
— advice, exhortations, entreaties, soothing, menaces — but all 
in vain. A severe watch was then set over the young novice, 
and he was cut off from all external communication, even from 
his uncle’s visits. At the same time various hard duties were 


180 


LOEENZO BENONT. 


imposed upon him, as well as various modes of self-mortifica- 
tion, among which one consisted in making the sign of the 
cross innumerable times upon the floor with his tongue ; his 
food was lessened in quantity ; every hook was taken li om 
‘him ; in short he was made as miserable as possible. 

In the meantime, the period of Vadoni’s majority was ap- 
proaching, and consequently the fatal hour for pronouncing 
irrevocable vows. Once more the superior madq, every effort 
to bring him to the determination, but once more he failed. So 
then the poor fellow was plunged into a segreta — that isj^a sub- 
terranean dungeon, lighted only by a little lamp set in a death’s 
head. His food was bread and water, and his bed was straw. 
During the night he was frequently startled from sleep by 
sounds of chains, and mysterious voices, threatening him with 
eternal damnation. The unfortunate Vadoni could not stand 
this trial ; he implored in mercy to be taken out of this abode 
of terror, which had become insupportable to him, and made 
every promise required of him. “In one month,” ended Va- 
doni, “I shall be of age, and I shall be a monk! Yes, I 

feel that my powers of resistance are exhausted. I was not 
born to struggle. They have overcome, crushed, annihilated 
me I I am lost unless you save me. I saw you the other day, 
and a gleam of hope shot across my mind. I have no one in 
the world to help me but yourself!” 

Alas ! what could I do for him — a poor young student, with- 
out connection, influence, or money ? Vadoni had arranged in 
his head a romantic plan, which I was to execute, viz., to pro- 
cure for him a disguise, a rope-ladder, and a passage on board 
of a ship for America. I immediately felt that this was quite 
beyond my powers, and told him so. I tried to rouse his cour- 
age, and to stimulate him to resistance, but in vain. There 
was no longer a spark of energy within him. “ I am lost be- 
yond redemption !” cried he in an agony of despair ; “ I wanted 
to be protected against my own weakness. To what purpose 
should I resist ? one half-hour of that tenable segreta, I feel it, 
W'ould overcome all my opposition !” 

“ I will see your uncle if you like,” said I. “ Write him a 
letter, and I will take it. I will plead your cause with all my 


A LAST CnANCE. 


181 


might.” — “Well, he it so,” returned Vadoni, despondingly ; 
“ to-morrow evening at church you shall have my letter. I 
hope nothing from it, but God bless you nevertheless. You 
have always 'been kind to me. Depend upon my affection. I 
shall certainly make a bad monk, but never, I hope, a bad 
friend.” On the evening of the following day he brought me 
the letter, and on the next I left my temporary seclusion. Heaven 
knows with v^hat feelings. 

The same day I went to call upon Vadoni’s uncle. He was 
not at home. I returned on the following one, and again 
missed him. I then left his nephew’s letter, with a few lines 
from myself, in which I requested the favor of a conversation 
with the old man. Several days passed without bringing an 
answer. At last, one morning when I was just preparing to 
pay my third visit, I received from Mr. Vadoni an invitation 
to call upon him at an hour he named. I was exact to the 
time. I found an old man of seventy years at least, with a 
face like a ferret, thin, dry, and yellow as parchment, ai^l I felt 
at the first sight of it that my poor friend’s cause was lost. 
“ You must judge, sir,” said the man, “ of the painful surprise 
I received from that strange letter of my nephew’s, which you 
were so kind as to transmit to me, and with the contents of 
which I know you are acquainted (he laid a marked emphasis 
on the word), when you shall have read this other letter which 
I have received from him to-day, and in which I am delighted 
to find the expression of those sentiments which are habitual 
to him.” I took the letter he held out to me, and perused it. 
Truly it was young Vadoni’s handwriting. He expressed the 
utmost regret for having sent the preceding epistle, written, he 
said, in a moment of aberration. He protested his willingness 
and readiness to show his sense of his uncle’s kindness to him, 
by entering into that state which he had voluntarily chosen. 

“ I will not seek to inquire the cause,” added the old man 
significantly, “ of that moment of error of which my nephew 
accuses himself I am persuaded, sir, that you in no way 
contributed to it, for you must certainly be aware how prepos- 
terous and even dangerous it would be to interfere in matters 
upon which hangs eternal salvation.” So saying, he bowed 


182 


LORENZO BENONI. 


me out, without my having the opportunity or the inclination 
to utter a word. I easily guessed that the segreta had exer- 
cised considerable influence on my poor friend’s determination. 
So then he was irretrievably sacrificed ! Sure enough, a few 
months afterward I heard that the novice Vadoni had taken 
the vows. 

My second adventure was of a less melancholy, hut no less 
instructive character in its way. During a fortnight the 
whole town had been talking of nothing else hut of a monster 
serenade, which was to be given in honor of I do not remember 
whom. Fantasio had a mind to hear it, and Caesar and I, 
with our father’s due permission, accompanied him. The 
serenade was very delightful ; but one grows tired of all 
things, even of the best, and after having listened twice to the 
music in two different places, we had had enough of it. “ Let 
us go and take a turn,” said Fantasio. So we lighted our 
cigars and set off. Chatting as we went, we came to the bridge 
of Carignano. It was a delicious night, as bright as day. The 
moon shone full upon the front of the church of Santa Maria, 
and shed floods of silver brightness on the expanse of sea 
spreading below. Attracted by the loveliness of the scene, 
we stood a moment in contemplation of it, and then began to 
pace up and down the bridge. It may have been one o’clock 
in the morning. Two carabineers came past, stopped, and 
seemed to watch our movements. 

The carabineers were a corps extremely well appointed, well 
paid, and very faithful, charged with the upper police : what 
with high and low, there were I know not how many kinds of 
police. The government, of which they were the blind and 
firm instruments, looked with signal favor upon the carabineers, 
whom, on the contrary, the citizens cordially detested. They 
always went about in couples, like monks, were tolerably civil, 
very absolute withal, aud never could be in the wrong. They 
had a particular spite against students, in memory of the part 
taken by them in the insurrectionary movement of 1821. The 
corps still exists, but I am happy to say it is much changed for 
the better in many points. 

We had continued smoking and walking up and down for 


THE CARABINEERS INRUAD UPON HISTORY, 


183 


some time, when the two carabineers came straight up to us. 
“ What are you doing there said one of them. 

We are taking a walk.” 

“It is very late to be taking a walk.” 

“ It is never late,” answered one of us, “ to take a turn on 
such a beautiful night.” 

“ The night is made for sleep,” retorted the man of arms, 
“ and you had better go to bed.” 

“We are not sleepy,” replied we in chorus. 

“ Never mind,” replied the carabineer, “ you will do well to 
go home.” 

“ Is this an order you give us ?” 

“It is, gentlemen,” was the laconic answer. 

“ And suppose we do not obey your order ?” 

“We shall be obliged to take you into custody.” 

What was to be done? Were we to give ourselves the 
satisfaction of passing the night in prison, and cause our fam- 
ilies some hours of unspeakable uneasiness? To what purpose ? 
To be sent home the next day without any further ceremony 
than that of a reprimand. For such was the course that things 
usually took in cases of such arrests, which were not without 
precedent. This was by no means a tempting prospect; it 
was better to give up the point, and swallow the pill, however 
bitter. And so we did. We left the bridge, and setoff in the 
direction of the town, closely followed by our two acolytes, 
whom we heartily wished, as well as their employers, at the 
bottom of the Red sea. 

This little adventure brings me, by a natural transition, to 
say two words of the Piedmontese government, and of its 
doings, up to the time when the Statuto came to put an end to 
a state of things as incredible as true. A few facts will suffice 
to give the reader an idea of it. Those who may be tempted 
to tax me with exaggeration, have only to open a History of 
Piedmont, lately published,* from which the greater part of 
the statements and anecdotes I am about to relate are taken. 

* Storia del Piemonte dal 1814 ai giorni nostri, di Angelo Brofferio. 
Torino, Tipografia Ferrero e Franco. 1861. 


184 


LOIilCNZO BKNONI. 


CHAPTER XXL 

THE STATE OF PIEDMONT PREVIOUS TO THE GRANT OF A CONSTI- 
TUTION, HINTED AT IN AN ANECDOTICAL WAY. 

Piedmont lay prostrate under the worst of all despotisms, the 
despotism of the sword. Military governors and commandants 
lorded it over the country, like true pachas. The power of 
these men being literally unlimited, daily encroachments on 
the jurisdiction of the civil authorities became inevitable ; and 
in the inextricable confusion and constant struggle for suprem- 
acy, which were the natural results of such a state of things, 
the peaceable citizen, who knew neither where to seek nor to 
find justice, was of course the suflPerer. The following fact 
may give some idea of the dignity and moderation these high 
functionaries displayed in the discharge of their duties. A 
gentleman not having raised his hat as the carriage in which 
the king chanced to he, drove by, the governor of Genoa sud- 
denly attacked him, and, loading him with the most virulent 
abuse, knocked his hat off his head. It so chanced that this 
gentleman belonged to one of the first families in Genoa, and 
was moreover personally known to, and highly esteemed by 
the emperor Alexander of Russia, with whom he frequently 
corresponded. To these circumstances, and on a demand 
from his powerful patron, he owed the satisfaction, eventually 
afforded him, of the removal of the governor of Genoa to 
another government. But how many acts of similar, and even 
of more gross misconduct, were left unpunished, for a single 
one that was not entirely so ! 

The sway of the commandants in the small towns, as 
arbitrary and unlimited as that of the governors, was still 


THE PACITAS THE JESUITS. 


185 


more immediately oppressive. In populous cities individuals 
escaped notice, but not so in country towns, where each man 
was known by name and by sight to the commandant, and 
W’here, for instance, it became an unpardonable crime to pass 
before the little pacha without taking off your hat. 

Next in authority, or rather in unlimited power, to the 
military, were the clergy, and the monks of every hue, 
especially the Jesuits. This celebrated sect had, as it were, 
enveloped the whole kingdom in a net. They had establish- 
ments at Voghera, Nice, Aosta, Chambery, Turin, and Genoa. 
These last two towns were their headquarters. They had, 
moreover, under their influence and immediate direction, 
many brotherhoods, half-religious half-political, such as the 
Ignorantelli, the Ladies of the Sacro Curore, the Congregation 
of St. Raphael for children, that of Sta. Dorothea for young 
girls, etc., etc. With such multiplied means of action, it is not 
surprising that they succeeded in monopolizing public instruc- 
tion. Primary schools, colleges, universities, all were under 
their authority. The Jesuitical spirit reigned at court, among 
the high functionaries, and invaded every branch of govern- 
mental or judicial administration. In short, to get on at all, 
affiliation, real or supposed, to this sect, was necessary. By 
means of the confessional, and by corrupting servants, they 
obtained possession of domestic secrets, which they commu- 
nicated to the police, thus causing divisions in families, scan- 
dalous lawsuits, and reprimands ; in short, all the variety of 
measures termed economical (economiche) a general name for 
all kinds of arbitrary injunctions, and petty interference in all 
and every act of private life, on the part of the police. Two 
Jesuits offered to the director of police of Genoa to furnish 
him with all the information he could desire.* 

The bishops, whose affiliation to the sect was nearly general, 
supported the Jesuits with all their might, and were in their 
turn supported by them in the most arbitrary and unjustifiable 
actions. The bishop of Acqui caused a Jewish girl, afflicted 
with mental alienation, to be torn from her family, on the plea 

* II Gesuita Moderno, per Vincenzo Gioberti, vol. iv.^ p. 861. 


186 


LORENZO BENONI. 


that she had manifested some inclination to become a Christian. 
The mother and two brothers of the unfortunate girl, guilty of 
having claimed her, instead of redress were thrown into prison. 
The only daughter of the Belgian charge d’affaires at Turin, 
fell in love with a young man, whose situation in life forbade 
his aspiring to her hand. Her father was a protestant. It 
sufficed that the young girl had whispered into the ear of a 
lady connected with the Jesuits, that to marry her lover she 
was ready to become a catholic, for the father to find one night 
his daughter carried off. After infinite search it was discovered 
that the young lady was under the protection of the ladies of 
the Sacro Cuore, but all the demands and solicitations of 
the diplomatic body failed to obtain the restoration of the 
misguided girl to the parental roof. 

As for legislation, suffice it to say, that the statutes of 1770 
formed its basis. The king, Victor Emmanuel, on his return 
to the throne in 1814, brought them anew into vigor, from 
hatred to the French laws, by which the country had been 
ruled since 1798. This was recalling to life, by one stroke of 
the pen, tithes, hanalita, commende, primogeniture, privileges 
of all kinds, monks of all colors, military courts, ecclesiastical 
courts, courts of royal domain (by which whole classes of 
citizens were withdrawn from the operation of the common 
law, and individuals implicated in one identical fact, were 
subjected to different law, to different judges, to a different 
form of trial) to say nothing of exceptional tribunals, inca- 
pacities of protestants, segregation of Jews, etc., etc. Torture 
was abolished, it is true, by a subsequent decree, but execu- 
tions by the wheel, and with red-hot pincers, amputation of the 
hand previous to hanging, the quartering of the dead bodies 
of criminals, and the exhibition of human limbs, were main- 
tained.* If these exorbitant penalties were but rarely ap- 
plied, the credit of this must be given to the mildness of 
manners, which served as a sort of corrective to the severity 
of the law. Such were tlie first benefits that Victor Emmanuel 
bestowed on his people. This weak prince, who used to say 

* Till 1831, when abolished by Carlo Alberto. 


INDIVIDUAL LIBERTY. 


187 


that he had slept during fifteen years, the period of the 
French occupation, carried his hatred of all that was French 
to a pitch of frenzy. Thus, for instance, there was a question 
at the beginning of his reign, whether the fine bridge, built by 
Napoleon, over the Po, should not be blown up; and a com- 
mission was appointed to consider the possibility of effacing 
the effigy of the usurper from the coin, without its being 
damaged. A poor clerk in the treasury was dismissed fi'om 
his employment because he wrote z thus, in French fashion, 
instead of thus r. 

Arbitrariness and favoritism had invaded the sanctuary of 
justice, and it not rarely occurred, that a verdict regularly 
given was set aside by a royal edict, or letters of grace. 
Sometimes the king (avocando a se) calling up before himself 
a cause between private individuals, ordered some magistrate 
to judge it anew, without any regard to the decision already 
delivered. Sometimes he would authorize a person to bring 
forward such a proof, or to propose such an exception, in spite 
of legal prescription. On other occasions, the cause would be 
sent back to the same tribunal to be judged anew. It is easy 
to conceive how derogatory, both to the course of justice, and 
to the credit of the magistrates charged with its administra- 
tion, must have been the practice of thus annulling judgments 
already pronounced. 

Some of the facts related in these memoirs may already 
have enabled the reader to judge in some degree of the respect 
attached to individual liberty. No warrant was necessary to 
put a citizen into prison. The governor, the commandant, the 
director of the police, the fiscal advocate, the justice of peace, 
the mayor, the carabineers, down to the lowest agent or spy of 
the police, each had the right to arrest. But if it was easy to 
get into prison, it was terribly difficult to get out again. A 
prisoner might be set at liberty to-day by order of the ma- 
gistrate, and to morrow an order from the governor, the director 
of police, the commandant, would send him back to confinement. 
One fact among a thousand. 

The marchioness of brought a criminal action against 

the mayor and common council of the burgh of Pecetto, for 


188 


LORENZO BKNONI. 


some alleged act of trespass on her estates. The senate (the 
highest law court) non-suited the marchioness, and acquitted 
the defendants. The judgment of the senate seemed an insult 
in the eyes of the family of the marchioness, which was pow- 
erful, and had friends at court. So one day the mayor and 
common conncilmen of Pecetto were arrested and carried to 
the prisons of Turin. The barrister who had defended the 
cause before the senate, hastened to the director of police, and 
showed him the senatorial degree of acquittal. The director 
merely answered with a smile, “ The senate has pronounced 
well, hut I have done better,” and so sent away the lawyer 
without any further explanation. The prisoners were not re- 
leased till it pleased the marchioness that they should he so, 
and were obliged to promise that they would in future “ be- 
have like honest men, with the fear of God and man before 
their eyes.” 

The privacy of correspondence was constantly violated, as 
a matter of course, without even a pretence of concealment. 

Under such a system, it is needless to say, there could not 
even he a question of the liberty of the press. Three official 
gazettes — one at Turin, one at Genoa, and the third atCham- 
hery — constituted the whole of the political press of the coun- 
try. They registered the decrees of the government, the court 
receptions, and such foreign news as the authorities allowed 
to he inserted. Scarcely any hooks were published, excepting 
a few works merely scientific, and some insipid novels. Cen- 
sorship with respect to the theatre was' carried to a pitch of 
absurdity, even to the suppression of the word \\hG,Yiy (lihertd) 
in a chorus in “ Norma,” and the substitution of loyalty (lealtd) 
in its place. This, by-the-way, reminds me of a curious anec- 
dote. Signor Ronconi, a famous barytone, and a great favor- 
ite with the public, having, in the excitement of the perfonn- 
ance, forgotten the above-mentioned alteration, was sent to 
prison for three days to improve his memory. Not long after- 
ward, the following verse, in allusion to a peasant who had 
enlisted, occurring in Signor Ronconi’s part in the “ Elisir 
d’Amore ” — ^^Vende la lihertd, si fi soldato^^ (he sold his liberty 
and became a soldier). Signor Ronconi, like a clever wag as 


A FLOURISHING TRADE. 


189 


% 

he wfis, altered the text into “ Vende la lealta, si fe soldato*^ (he 
sold his loyalty, and became a soldier). This variation was 
received by the public, to whom everything in the shape of 
opposition was welcome, with enthusiasm. Next day came a 
summons before the police to receive a reprimand for having 
dared to say that “ loyalty” was to be sold ; in reply to which 
the singer observed that, but a few days before, he had been 
taught, in a way not easily to be forgotten, that loyalty was 
everywhere to take the place of liberty. The matter ended 
here, affording mirth to the whole town at the expense of the 
government, and increasing not a little the popularity of Sig- 
nor Ronconi. 

To return from this digression. The only foreign papers 
permitted were, Gazette de France’^ and ‘^La Quotidienne,” 
two ultra-absolutist journals. The law punished any one who 
might have introduced a book or a newspaper opposed to the 
principles of monareJiy, with from two to five years of hard 
labor, in certain cases even with death ; and any xOne who 
might have received one of such newspapers or books by the 
post, without having delivered it into the hands of the authori- 
ties, with two years’ imprisonment. A reward of a hundred 
crowns was paid to any one giving information of the fact. 

A flourishing trade was that of spies and informers. They 
swarmed upon society, like flies on carrion. There were 
plenty of them of all stations in life, and of every calling. The 
secret police was the sure asylum of all veterans in debauchery 
and crime. Iilany among these, disdaining all disguise, made 
a parade of their infamy, and carried on their trade in the 
open day. The Piazza Nuora, near the ducal palace, at 
Genoa, was the rendezvous of these wretches. There they 
met in great numbers at certain hours of the day, forming little 
groups, and going backward and forward with a busy look, to 
the great disgust of the honest citizens. Their victims were 
especially the small shopkeepers, on whom they levied a sort 
of tribute, under the threat of denouncing them as liberals. 
The acknowledged chief of these creatures was a man with 
whose name I will not soil these pages ; but all those of my 
countrymen who may read them will instantly recognise the 


190 


LORENZO BENONI. 


individual, when I add that in 1845 or 1846 he was prose- 
cuted for murder, found guilty, and condemned to the galleys 
for life. 

I shall say nothing of the treatment inflicted upon those 
under political accusation. Perhaps I shall have occasion to 
touch on that melancholy subject in the course of these me- 
moirs. For the present, I shall close this dark subject with 
an anecdote unfortunately strictly historical, in which the 
ridiculous vies with the revolting. A political prisoner, who 
had been long detained in the fortress of Mondovi, made re- 
peated application to the commandant for permission to be 
shaved. The commandant referred the question to the gov- 
ernor of the province of Cuneo, who granted the requisite au- 
thority by the following despatch, which I give verbatim : 
“ The prisoner shall have his hands, arms, and legs, tied to a 
chair. Two sentinels shall be placed, one on his right, the 
other on his left, and behind him a soldier with a naked sabre. 
Fronting him shall stand the commandant, with the major of 
the fortress on one side, and his aide-de-camp on the other. 
In this attitude,” concluded the despatch, “ the prisoner is 
permitted to have himself shaved at his ease and pleasure 
( con tutto suo comodo ! ) 


MUSTACHES PROSCKIBKD. 


191 



CHAPTER XXII. 


f %ANTALIZING DISCOVERY, AND HOT CHASE TO NO PURPOSE 


THE VALLEY OF SAN SECONDO. 


Two years have elapsed. I am now twenty-one, and a 
^ thick circlet of hair has grown under my chin. I should also 
have a pair of beautiful mustaches — the object of my ambition 
as a child — if mustaches were not unmercifully proscribed. I 
i have made several attempts toward wearing them, but all have 
I been frustrated. One day, a long, long time ago, Mr. Merlini 
I meeting me in the peristyle of the university with a show of 
down upon my lip, protested, with certain indescribable nods, 
jerks, and grimaces, that he had taken me for a pioneer. I 
understood the hint, and my budding mustaches fell under the 
razor. Twelve months later, the mustaches having reappeared 
^thicker than ever, the director of police had the kindness to 
send me word, through my father, that if I did not shave them 
I off of my own accord, he would have them cut off for me — a 
" , very simple ceremony, not at all unprecedented. Two cara- 
bineers would take you by each arm, force you into a barber’s 
shop, and stand present during the operation. So I was obliged 
to give up the point. 

My studies, as well as those of my brother, are drawing to 
a close. Though admitted to the university a year after me, 
Caesar had overtaken me during my time of rustication. One 
year more, and Genoa will possess an additional barrister with- 
out clients, and another physician without patients. Caesar 
has become much more manly in his person within the last two 
years. He is a trifle less tall than I am, but stouter, better 
proportioned, and much stronger. The color of health glows . 


192 


LORENZO BENONI. 


in liis cheeks. His features are not very regular, but alto- 
gether pleasing. He has a beautiful mouth and fine teeth, 
and his clustering chestnut hair shades well a spacious, finely- 
formed forehead. As for me, I am very dark-complexioned, 
very pale, and far too thin for my height, which is above the 
middling size. My countenance, when at rest, wears an ex- 
pression of languor painful to behold in one so young, but easily 
brightens up and changes for the better. My only beauty, if 
a thing very common in our country may be considered as 
such, is a profusion of very black, curling hair. 

My youngest brother has just left college with a cartload of 
books and wreaths of laurel. Save this one, no change of any 
note at home ; my father as stiff, cold, and distant, my mother 
as patient, meek, and gentle, as ever. Since we have become 
men, disagreeable scenes are more rare. We take greater care 
to avoid them. We are also allowed a little more liberty, and 
may go out to walk after supper, without having recourse to 
stealth. Bad tidings of the crop have come from our uncle 
the canon. Somehow or other, be it from cold or from heat, 
this is the second year that the olives have failed. My father 
delivers on the occasion sundry lamentable lectures, to which 
we listen in silence, and the family is put upon a footing of 
the strictest economy. Uncle John is as odd and as friendly 
as ever. Csesar and I go and dine at his house regularly 
once a week, when he never fails to repeat that the disease 
lies at the root of the tree, and that youth is too prone to take 
its wishes for realities. Evidently, Uncle John watches us, 
and has fears about us. 

With Fantasio we are as intimate as ever, or more so if 
possible. He has thrown off the yoke of the university, and 
is now LL. D. in utroque jure. The circle of his acquaintances 
has gradually extended, and his influence goes on spreading. 
He founded a literary journal, and took a journey into Tus- 
cany last year. The journal, like a rose, lived but one day, 
that is to say, that at the tenth number the censorship sup- 
pressed it without any ceremony. As to the journey, its object 
is a mystery to all, except a few adepts, among whom are 
Caesar and myself. 


FAJSTASIU S DOINGS. 


193 


Fantasio had long entertained the project of forming a secret 
association like the Hetaireia, and had laid down in writing, 
and shown us, a complete and detailed plan, of which we had 
highly approved. Among the literary connections which Fan- 
tasio’s early contributions to a Florentine periodical had pro- 
cured for him in Tuscany, there were a certain number of 
liberal, ardent-minded young men, to whom he wished to 
communicate his plan, in order to induce them to adopt it, so 
as to found the association in the two Italian provinces at once; 
for Fantasio’s ambition aimed at nothing less than embracing 
in the same bond all the different parts of the peninsula. This, 
and no other, had been the real motives of his journey. His 
Tuscan friends would have been very willing to enter into his 
views ; but, as chance would have it, they had just a short 
time before received overtures of the same nature from a Ven- 
dita of Carbonari sitting at Bologna ; and of what use, observed 
they, could it be to form a new society, when one of old stand- 
ing, and powerful in its means, not only existed, but was actually 
within their reach ? 

Fantasio yielded to this very cogent reasoning, and gave 
up his political scheme. He resolved, however, to make his 
journey to Tuscany turn to account in another way, and suc- 
ceeded in getting a plan of a literary weekly journal adopted 
and approved. He engaged for himself and some of his 
Genoese friends to become regular contributors to the new 
periodical, which was to be published in Florence, where 
there was considerable toleration with respect to the press. 
This done, Fantasio left his Tuscan friends with the under- 
standing that if the overtures from Bologna should produce 
any result they were to let him know, and that, on the 
other hand, if he were in the meantime to succeed in putting 
himself in communication with the Carbonari, who could not 
but be equally at work in Genoa, he would let them know in 
his turn. I need hardly say how we welcomed Fantasio with 
open arms on his return from Florence. I shall never forget 
the accent of triumph with which he said, as he got out of the 
carriage, “ The Italian Hetaireia is found !” 

However, he had been in too great a hurry to cry “victory;’^ 

9 


194 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


for, in spite of all the ardor with whiodi he, and indeed all of 
us, sought after this Italian Hetaireia, we could not succeed 
in finding any trace of it. This failure, far from leading us to 
the conclusion that Carbonari did not exist, or at least were 
not actually working in Genoa, only increased our faith, and 
our veneration for this formidable association, which could so 
well keep its secret that, although everywhere present it was 
nowhere tangible. 

Carbonarism, as everybody knows, arose in the kingdom 
of Naples during the last years of the French occupation. 
Some patriots, flying from the persecution of the foreign 
government, had retired to the mountains of the Abruzzo, 
where their only means of existence was making charcoal 
(carbone), whence came the name of Carbonari, and that of 
Vendita (sale), given to the divers groups into wdiich the 
association was divided. King Ferdinand, who at that time 
had taken refuge in Sicily, made the most of the national 
feeling of the sect, encouraged it with all his might, and went 
so far as to become a member of it. From that time the asso- 
ciation had spread all over the kingdom of Naples, and thenct 
to all parts of Italy. The Carbonari it was who had prepared 
and brought to bear the revolution of Naples and of Piedmont 
in 1821, although the sect had been vehemently persecuted 
for some years preceding, and most unmercifully by that same 
King Ferdinand whom it had restored to the throne. Pope 
Pius VII. had excommunicated it, and the mere fact of be- 
longing to it was punished by death. Such monstrous rigor, 
far from diminishing, had increased the fascination of the sect. 
A halo of sombre poetry surrounded those exceptional beings, 
whom the popular imagination pictured as holding their as- 
semblies in woods and caverns at the midnight hour, and 
continuing their mysterious work, nothing daunted by the 
thunders of the Vatican, or the prospect of the scaffold. 

We had no hope left but in our friends in Tuscany, nor did 
they fail us. Three months after the return of Fantasio, two 
young men with a message for him came and knocked at his 
door. Their tidings were at once good and bad. The over- 
tures from the Vendita of Bologna had led to the most satis- 


CAKBONARISM A GLIMPSE OF THE ELECT. 195 

factory results. Carbonarism was being organized throughout 
Tuscany, and Vendite were already established in all the 
principal towns ; but a special order from the original Vendita 
at Bologna, confined the work to Tuscany alone, with an ex- 
press prohibition against going beyond. This was indispen- 
sable, said they, for securing secresy and unity. Each prov- 
ince had its centre of action limited to the province itself, and 
without any contact with those of the other provinces of the 
peninsula. The supreme Vendita alone, stationed in Paris, 
held in its grasp all the threads of these different centres, and 
could at any chosen moment put them in communication with 
each other. Our Tuscan friends could, therefore, do nothing 
for us, but send the name and address of one of the chief 
members of the Vendita at Bologna. The two young dele- 
gates had no directions for good cousins (another appellation 
for Carbonari) in Genoa ; but they were sure, they said, that 
the work was progressing here as elsewhere, for the sect was 
everywhere. 

What was to be done ? There was but one way to break 
the spell : to go to Bologna. Fantasio made up his mind to 
this, and went for a passport. To get a passport in those 
times was a state-affair. “ What particular business had he 
at Bologna Fantasio said that his business was, first to 
see that famous city, and next to examine and compare some 
very rare manuscript copies of the Divina Commedia, which 
were only to be found in the library of the accademia at 
Bologna. “ If his business were not more pressing than that 
he might wait. Bologna and the library of the accademia 
were not likely to fly away from one day to another. He had 
been into Tuscany last year, had he not ? then he had better 
stay quietly at home for the present and rest.” So to arbi- 
trariness was superadded derision. Fantasio had to remain 
and champ the bit. 

We were introduced — Caesar, Sforza, and I, with a few 
others — to the two emissaries from Tuscany, the day before 
their departure. How small did I feel myself in the presence 
of these two young men, who had been chosen to stake their 
life in the national cause ! I scarcely thought I was worthjr 


196 


LORENZO BENONI. 


to shake hands with them. I could have fallen at their feet 
and worshipped. The conversation naturally turned upon 
the association, on which were centred all our thoughts and 
hopes. The deep impression they had received as to its 
extent and power, was very catching. Oarbonarism was an 
immense net that enveloped all Europe. A sign from the 
supreme Vendita in Paris, could set the whole continent on 
fire. The kingdom of Naples alone counted fort^ thousand 
affiliated members. The initiated of the mysterious association 
Avere to be found on the steps of the throne, and in the most 
humble cottage. The judge upon his judgment-seat, and the 
accused in the dock, by means of an imperceptible sign, recog- 
nised each other as brothers. A man who had been condemned 
to death (his name and the country Avhere the thing had hap- 
pened were quoted), and Avho was to have been executed the 
next day, had had his fetters loosened, and been furnished 
with the means of escape during^ the night. By a word which 
the prisoner had dropped, one of the guards charged with the 
watch had discovered him to be a brother Oarbonaro, and 
aided in his escape. 

The two emissaries had a special message for the supreme 
Vendita in Paris. Paris ! the unknown ! the infinite ! The 
supreme Vendita ! A something crowned with clouds charged 
Avith thunder! Names were Avhispered, names which I had 
ncA’cr heard pronounced, or met Avith in my reading from my 
earliest youth, Avithout a thrill of reverential awe I — names 
Avhich in my judgment represented demi-gods: — Lafayette, 
Lamarque, Foy, etc., etc. My heart SAvelled, my head grew 
giddy, a passionate longing to achieve some great deed took 
possession of me. Hoaa" fortunate Avere these young men — 
how I admired, hoAv I envied them ! Tavo handsome, noble, 
sincere young fellows, if ever there were such, firmly belicAung 
every Avord they said, and ready to bear Avitness to the truth 
of it Avith their blood I One of them fell but the other day, 
combating the Austrians in a suburb of Bologna. Honor to 
thee, braA’e Marliani I 

The occurrences I have just retraced are the only ones of* 
any note in the two years Ave have skipped OA^er, and of 


SAN SECONDO. 


197 


which it was necessary to apprize the reader, in order that 
he should understand what is to follow. I now resume my 
narrative. 

We are in the country. My mother having had a had 
cough throughout the winter, Avhich persisted in spite of 
the change of season, the physicians had advised her to try 
the effect of country air — not that of my mother’s own villa, 
which was too sharp for her, hut one milder and less dry. 
So we had hired a small house at San Secondo, one of those 
numerous valleys into which the magnificent vale of the 
Bisagno unwinds itself. It was a lovely secluded spot, green 
as an emerald, and quiet as an unexplored forest of the New 
World. 

The house which we inhabited was not large, hut neat and 
comfortable ; the view from the windows, though circum- 
scribed, was really beautiful. A wide meadow, animated by 
herds of cattle grazing peacefully, and tinkling their hells, 
extended along the front, while a belt of luxuriant vegetation 
rose on the other three sides. At the bottom of the meadow 
wound the bed of the torrent, over which was thrown a wood- 
en bridge of the most picturesque aspect. On the opposite side 
stood a long avenue of aged cypresses, at the very farthest 
end of which were the parsonage and the modest village 
church, with its slender steeple shooting boldly above the 
trees, as if to catch the first rosy tints of the rising sun. The 
peculiar charm of this little landscape lay in its completely 
pastoral character. The house was sheltered from the north 
wind by Mount Fasce, which rose behind, and whose rich 
vegetation was already beginning to glow with warm autumnal 
tints. 

Fantasio’s abode was but a short mile distant from us. See 
out there, beyond the church, on the slope facing us, that 
white house with green blinds. We distinguish it perfectly 
through the trees from our windows. That is Fantasio’s casi- 
no. Most frequently he would come at early dawn, and saunter 
up Mount Fasce with us, but very slowly, for my mother was 
of the party, and we were afraid of her getting tired. We 
would stop at a certain height, make her a comfortable seat 


198 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


of moss and fern, and wait for the coming of the new-horn day. 
Far, far below onr feet, spread the wide, the glorions Mediter- 
ranean, ever varying, ever heantiful, which, with its gentle 
swell, seemed as though it saluted the rising sun with a th'ill 
of love and pleasure. 

Sometimes it was our turn to go over early with our guns 
to Fantasio, and then to wander among the vineyards on the 
hill-side in pursuit of game. How delightful was that hill 
with its soft air, all redolent of the perfume of a thousand 
wild flowers, and its magnificent view of the panorama of the 
port and city of Genoa the Superb ! Often did we forget the 
game, and spend hours in silent contemplation, while our souls 
thrilled with vague but delicious aspirations, rose like those 
larks, which, starting from beside our feet, would wing their 
upward way, and lose themselves to sight in the celestial 
azure. Oh ! why, thought we, should there he had govern- 
ments to prevent us from enjoying in peace these lovely works 
of God, and being happy. 

Alas ! we were far from happy ! A plethora of enthusiasm, 
which found no object on which to expend itself, an exu- 
berance of living power within us, which, for want of employ- 
ment, wasted away in sterile regret — this was the evil which, 
like rust, did eat away our lives. Our utter inability to effect 
any good, or what appeared to us to be good, gnawed, like an 
undying worm, at our hearts. Fantasio had written twice to 
the two emissaries, in order to obtain information, but had 
received no answer. Suppose he himself were to go to Paris! 
But how obtain a passport ? What a pity that our uncle the 
canon was not a canon of the cathedral of Bologna ? Suppose 
we were to realize Fantasio’s plan of association! We were 
in great perplexity. Sforza and Alfred sometimes came to see 
us (Alfred had returned from Pisa, M. D., within the last 
month), and from them we concealed none of our most secret 
thoughts. To Sforza it seemed that we made much ado about 
nothing ; and his notion was, that, to overthrow the govern- 
ment, we had but to take a flag with the Italian colors, 
go into the street with it, and cry, “ Italy for ever ! Liberty 
forever!” and the thing would be done. Alfred stared and 


lovk’s young dream. 


199 


looked pazzled, as lie used to do of old when Caesar and I 
talked in his hearing of princesses and subterranean treasures. 
‘'But where are those Carbonari? Where in the world do 
they hide themselves ?” Such was the chorus that ended all 
our conversations. 

Our disappointment in this respect preyed much on my 
mind, but was not the sole cause of uneasiness within me. I 
had felt of late a sense of vague discomfort, a want of interest 
in all things, a sort of void in my life, never experienced 
before. Especially since' I had been in the country, strange 
feelings would steal over me at times, swell in my bosom, and 
fill my eyes with tears. The sight of that beautiful rejoicing 
nature, instead of cheering, saddened and oppressed me. At 
certain moments, I had' a morbid desire for solitude, and often 
spent whole hours seated at the foot of a tree, in the most 
distant corner of our remote valley, lost in undefined revery. 
Oh ! that I could but seize on its passage one of those confused 
images, one of those daughters of air that float through my^ 
fancy, like the atoms of dust dancing in a sunbeam ! How 
far off were the times when I used to dream of princesses with 
golden locks and coral lips ! I was now quite alive to the 
beauty of my lovely countrywomen. One of my cousins had 
lately married, and the sight of the young couple at the wed- 
ding party had wrought a sudden change within me. The two 
young people looked so beautiful, so happy, so much in love 
with each other, that I quite envied them. Not that I partic- 
ularly wished to be in my Cousin Peter’s place, but I wished 
I could be as much beloved as he was. It must be so delight- 
ful to love and to be loved. Life thus intertwined must double 
the 'pleasure of existence. 

The rector of San Secondo often came to spend the evening 
with us, and sometimes we in turn would go to the parsonage. 
This rector enjoyed at sixty-five a green old age, and was a 
man of patriarchal simplicity, half priest, half peasant. In- 
stead of making long sermons to his parishioners, he made 
roads for tbem, he repaired the bridge, he mowed the grass, 
and got in the harvest for those who might be sick. We often 
met at the parsonage another rector of a neighboring village, 


200 


I.ORENZO BENONI. 


who was very intimate with ours — an old, corpulent, asthmatic 
ex-monk, looking as if, one of these days, his fat would choke 
him. The talk was often of politics; the two priests -were 
liberals, and made no scruple of finding plenty of fault with 
the government. The ex-monk was the more violent of the 
two. He had been made a freemason in the time of the 
French, and gloried in it. His marking peculiarity was a 
detestation of all monks in general, and of that order to which 
he had belonged in particular. His politics were summed up 
in this saying, which he was never tired of repeating, “ Hang 
all monks !” In one corner of the room the daughter of the 
rector’s housekeeper sat spinning, a strange-looking peasant 
girl of sixteen. Santina Avas her name, but Ave called her the 
Gipsy, for, in truth, she had the black glossy hair and rich 
broAvn complexion of a gipsy. Her large eyes were dark and 
bright, and her look as piercing as an arrow. At first sight 
her countenance had something repulsh^e, but when once you 
Avere accustomed to it, you discovered a peculiar charm in it, 
Avhich grew upon you. Santina never lost one word of our 
conversation, Avhich she followed Avith intense interest, rarely 
taking a part, but always, when she did, by some very original’ 
remark. Everything in the expression of her face, and in her 
bearing, bespoke a nature full of passionate workings under 
restraint. 

With the exception of Alfred and Sforza, Ave had few 
visiters. My father, who had no taste for the country, came 
seldom to see us — perhaps once in a fortnight. As to Uncle 
John, and my eldest brother, who Avas getting into good prac- 
tice as a lawyer, they were confined to the town by business, 
except on Sunday, Avhen they came and spent the day at San 
Secondo. But we went often into toAvn, Avhich Avas an hour 
and a half’s Avalk. Caesar, Fantasio, and I, invariably went 
in and came out all three together. I Avas accordingly not a 
little surprised one morning to find that they had set off very 
early for the town, Avithout acquainting me. They returned 
in the evening Avithout a Avord of explanation. Some days 
after they went off in the same Avay. I Avas extremely puz- 
zled, but said nothing. Another day I came unawares upon 


EUREKA. 


201 


them in a veiy animated conversation ; they suddenly broke 
off at my approach, and appeared embarrassed. We often 
talked politics as before, but I remarked that the name of the 
Carbonari never passed their lips, any more than if Carbonari 
had never existed. No doubt of it, the thing is found. The 
ftwful enigma, which we have been hunting after for months 
and months, is unravelled at last. But why do they not tell 
me the good news ? Do they distrust me ? Impossible ! 
What is the use of my torturing my brain about the matter 1 
If they do not speak, it is because they dare not speak. I did 
not risk the slightest question which could have the appear- 
ance of courting confidence. The mystery concealed under 
the silence of the companions of my youth, was so sacred in 
my eyes that it even excluded curiosity. Nevertheless there 
was a sort of cloud between them and me. I was not at ease 
in their presence, as I feared being a restraint upon them. 
They also, Caesar especially, were uneasy before me. 

One morning my brother came into my room early. “ Had 
he not left his gun here yesterday evening ? I guessed at 
once that the gun was a pretext. Caesar hunted after it in 
every corner of the room. He sat down and complained of 
the heat, which was by no means oppressive. He walked 
backward and forward, and talked of indifferent matters, but 
it was evident that something weighed on his mind. Just as 
he was leaving the room he suddenly turned round, came to 
me, took my hand, and hurriedly let fall the following words : 
“ It hurts me to have a secret from you, but this secret is not 
mine, and — you must not be angry with me. Perhaps I fail 
in my duty in saying even so much, but I can stand it no 
longer !” 

In the course of the day Fantasio took me aside and said 
“You have guessed. Have a little patience. The only 
question is one of a few months’ delay. There is an objection 
on account of age, but we will see and get over that. In the 
meantime be of good cheer, and especially try to save as much 
money as you can.” So I was too young ! How unlucky ! 
I would willingly have given one, two, ten years of my life to 
be of age. 


9 * 


202 


LORENZO BENONI. 


From that moment every cloud was dispelled from between 
my young companions and me. I lessened my expenses ; I 
smoked less; I grew avaricious; and prepared myself in 
meditation and silence for my initiation into mysteries which 
I burned yet almost dreaded to know. 


FOLLY SHAKES II EK BELLS. 


203 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

INITIATION, BRIGHT DREAMS, MISGIVINGS, HIGH-WROUGHT ANTICI- 
PATIONS, AND FINAL DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Month had followed month, autumn had given place to 
winter, the annoyances of the university life had succeeded to 
the pleasant leisure of the country, and I was still in the same 
state of expectation — no communication of any sort with 
respect to the great affair, either from Caesar or from Fantasio, 
scarcely even a wmrd of encouragement. Fantasio, however, 
had of late wished to know how much money I possessed, 
warning me to have my silver pieces changed into gold, and 
to carry it about me, “ for,” said he, “ you may be called 
unawares, and you had better be ready to answer the summons 
when the hour shall strike ! ” F antasio repeated this last phrase 
several times, and dwelt upon it with a peculiar emphasis. 

We were in the midst of the carnival, and Folly shook her 
bells most gay ly — dances and feasting everywhere. “Shall 
we go to-night to the veglione said Caesar to me on the 
morning of Shrove-Tuesday ; “ I have an engagement for the 
evening, but I will meet you there at midnight if you like.” 
We settled the room in w'hich we were to meet at twelve. 
Veglione is the name given to the fashionable public balls, 
which take place in the ridotto of the Carlo Felice theatre. 

The throng was great in the halls of the ridotto, and the 
entertainment exceedingly animated. It rained, and was cold 
without doors ; the more reason for flocking thither, where it 
was so pleasant, so comfortably warm. Everything looked so 
bright, everybody so happy and gay ! Masks were numerous, 
tlie disguises generally in very good taste — several of them 
splendid. It was only half-past eleven ; I had still half-an- 


204 


LORENZO BENONI. 


hour to take a turn through the ball-room ; so I mingled in the 
joyous flood, which came and went, and passed through the 
vast suite of apartments. Dancing Avas going on in two or 
three different parts, and I could not help smiling, as I passed 
along, at the recollection of my unfortunate dehut in the gay 
science of Terpsichore, time out of mind. A cross fire of 
greetings, witticisms, jokes, quips, and pranks, authorized by 
the occasion, burst from every side, like crackers, around me. 

A compact group stops the Avay. What is it ? It is a 
servetta (servant-maid), true Genoese type, with her velvet 
spencer, national mezzaro, and short petticoats, carrying on a 
dialogue with a Gianduja, Piedmontese type — government 
and opposition face to face. “ Two crowns a-month!” screams 
the servetta, Avho is always supposed to be seeking a situation, 
“ tAA^o croAvns a-month to such a one as I ! Get out with 
you ! — do, you ill-mannered cur !” (protracted cheers from the 
bystanders.) “ They are all alike, these polenta eaters.” 
(This is addressed to the public.) “ Starving and penniless, 
they come and fatten upon us.” The majority of the audience, 
who belong to the opposition, cheer this delicate allusion to a 
favorite dish of the Piedmontese, and to their proverbial 
poverty. 

Further on, a black-whiskered wet-nurse, with a wooden 
baby in her arms, is quizzing (the technical word for that sort 
of fun) a superannuated Adonis, whom she has pushed up into 
a corner. This wet-nurse, as I hear from my neighbors, car- 
ries terror Avherever she goes. She knows everything about 
everybody. In vain the poor man, who does not relish the 
joke, makes desperate efforts to escape. His merciless perse- 
cutor folloAvs him closely, and insists upon having the address 
of the shop where he bought his flaxen wig. The Avould-be 
Lovelace now groAvs seriously angry, Avhich is against the rules, 
and so the greater the amusement. But midnight strikes, and 
it is time to go and join Caesar. 

He was not yet in the room appointed ; so I sat down, and 
looked upon the motley croAvd that moved before me. From 
time to time a mask would scream out my name, or shake 
her finger threateningly at me. Two black-masked dominoes 


THE TWO DOMINOES. 


205 


stopped at the threshold, and looked around, as if in search 
of somebody ; then they darted toward me. The taller of 
the two called me by my name. “ What are you doing all 
alone?” 

Looking at fools, as you see.” 

“ Expecting some one ?” chimed in the short domino, evi- 
dently a man, but accoutred as a woman. 

“ Exactly so ; expecting somebody.” 

“ A lady. I’ll lay any wager ?” continued the short one. 

“ A black-whiskered one, at all events,” said I. 

“ A beautiful fair one ; I know her,” added the tall domino. 

“ If so, you know more than I do.” 

“ I know her name, and will whisper it to you.” The tall 
domino stooped, and let fall into my ear these words — 

The hour has struck .'” 

I started as with an electric shock, and said, rising, “At 
last ! I am ready.” 

“ Then follow us !” 

They led the way through the thronged rooms, down the 
stairs, and into the street. I follow^ed closely at their heels ; 
and so we entered an obscure neighboring alley, where my 
leaders stopped. “ I beg your pardon,” said the taller of them, 
“ but it is indispensable that we should bind your eyes.” I 
nodded acquiescence, and a handkerchief was tied round my 
head. It was cold, wet, and dark, and we were all wrapped 
in our cloaks. As directed, I turned the collar of mine up 
round my face. My companions took me each by one arm, 
and so we proceeded in perfect silence, sometimes to the right, 
sometimes to the left, and sometimes, as it appeared to me, 
turning back again. Two persons, as far as I could judge by 
the sound of steps, followed near. At length we stopped. I 
had not the slightest idea where we w'ere. I heard a key 
turn in a lock ; in we went, and up two flights of stairs. A 
door was pushed open, a passage traversed, and we had reached 
our destination. 

My eyes were now unbound, and I found myself in a vast 
chamber, rather richly titan elegantly furnished. A huge fire 
burned in an enormous chimney, and a heavy lamp, with an 


206 


LORENZO BENONI. 


alabaster globe, shed a mild, soft light around. There was a 
thick, dark-red carpet upon the floor ; a wide drapery, in flow- 
ered damask of the same color, hung in rich folds at the upper 
end of the room, and probably concealed an alcove. We were 
five persons in the room : the two who had been my escort, two 
others, equally shrouded in black dominoes — apparently those 
who had followed us — and myself. The tall, black domino, 
who appeared to be the chief, and whom I shall henceforth 
call the president, placed himself in an arm-chair; the two 
last-comers seated themselves upon chairs on his right and left, 
and the domino dressed as a woman, behind him. The presi- 
dent then motioned to me to advance, which I did, and there 
I stood facing the four men, and in front of the alcove. After 
a short pause, a kind of examination began. It was the tall 
domino who spoke, and he always addressed me in the second 
person singular. 

“ What was my name, Christian name, and age V* 

I told them. 

“ Did I guess the purpose of my presence there V* 

I believed I did. 

“ Did I persist in the intention of entering the confraternity 
of the Good Cousins 

I did with all my heart. 

“Had I formed a clear idea of the terrible duties that I took 
upon myself? Did I know that, as soon as I should have 
taken the solemn oath, my arm, my faculties, my life, my 
whole being, would no longer belong to myself, but to the 
order? Was I ready to die a thousand times rather than re- 
veal the secrets of the order? Was I ready blindly to obey, 
and to abdicate my will before the will of my superiors in the 
order?” 

Of course I was. If I had been told to open the window 
and throw myself out of it, head foremost, I should not have 
hesitated. 

“ What claim had I to enter into the brotherhood of free 
men ?” 

I had none save my love for my country, and my unaltera- 
ble determination to contribute to its liberation, or to die in 


BEWARE ! 


207 


the attempt. As words to this effect gushed forth, hot as lava, 
from my inner soul, I saw or thought I saw the curtains of the 
alcove gently move. Was it an illusion, or was there some 
one hidden behind ? I did not dwell upon the circumstance, 
for what signified a mystery more or less in this great mys- 
tery ? 

The examination having been brought to a close, the presi- 
dent made me kneel down, and repeat the form of oath, which 
he pronounced in a loud and distinct voice, dwelling with em- 
phasis on the phrases most pregnant with meaning. This done, 
he added : “ Take a chair and sit down ; you may do so now 
that you are one of us.” I obeyed. A name of adoption was 
then chosen for me, and some mysterious words and signs, by 
which I could make myself known to my brethren of the order, 
were imparted to me, but with an express injunction not to use 
them except in cases of necessity. 

“ I must now,” added the president, “ give you some expla- 
nations and directions. You now belong to the first grade of 
the order, which, however, is only a stage of probation. You 
have no rights, not even that of presentation ; you have only 
duties, but these will be easy. Keep your secret religiously, 
wait patiently, in a spirit of faith and submission, and hold 
yourself ready for the moment of action. In due time you 
will know the Vendita of which you are to form part, and the 
chief from whom you will have to receive direct orders. In 
the meanwhile, if there are any orders for you, they will be 
transmitted by the cousin who has presented you, and whom 
you already know. The order to which you belong has eyes 
and ears everywhere — and from this moment, wherever you 
may be, whatever you may do, it will see you. Bear this in 
mind, and act accordingly. The sitting is at an end.” 

Here the president rose, and through the beard of his mask 
kissed me on each cheek, and on the mouth. All present did 
the same. I had a certain sum to pay, destined to the poor 
and infirm among the brethren; my eyes were once more 
bound ; and we went out. The way back was shorter than it 
had been in going, but quite as ii-regular. “We will separate 
here,” said the voice of the tall domino as we stopped ; “ pur- 


208 


LORENZO BENONI. 


sue your way without looking back : this is the first act of 
obedience that I require of you.” So saying, he untied the 
handkerchief which covered my eyes. Obedient to his order, 
I went on without turning, and came out upon the Piazza of 
the Carlo Felice theatre. The street whence I issued was that 
same dark alley, where, two hours before, I had joined my 
mysterious companions, and where they had blindfolded me. 
I should have liked to take a good walk, but it rained hard, 
so I went home to bed. 

I was too much excited to sleep. The scene in which I had 
just acted a part had been, from its very simplicity most im- 
pressive to me. Freemasons and Carbonari, I had been told, 
were fond of surrounding their initiations with a certain pomp 
of phantasmagoria, calculated to strike forcibly the mind of the 
neophyte ; and I had expected at least a great display of sym- 
bolical forms, and drawn daggers. Now, in this I had been 
most agreeably disappointed. There had been nothing in my 
reception but what was simple and dignified. These were the 
men I wanted — men in earnest, and without fuss about them. 
The tall domino had captivated my fancy — I wondered who 
he could be. A chief certainly, to judge by the deference the 
others showed toward him ; but who was he ? His Italian was 
far more pure and more harmonious than is common among 
Genoese, and at the same time less affected than the language 
of the Tuscans. I should say he was a Roman. Then the 
apartment into which I had been introduced, was it the one in 
which he lived ? If so, he must be wealthy, and belong to the 
first classes of society, for the furniture of the room where my 
initiation had taken place bespoke habits of luxury and com- 
fort which were not those of the middling class of my country- 
men, even when rich. The fire in the chimney, for instance, 
was quite an aristocratical indulgence, which few of the burgh- 
ers, however well off, would allow themselves. As to the two 
last-come dominoes, I would have wagered anything that they 
were Caesar and Fantasio. The height was precisely theirs, 
and an indescribable something in their way of giving me the 
embrace, had been to me like a revelation confirmatory of the 
fact. It was true my initiation had taught me nothing, and I 


GUESSES AND ASPIRATIONS. 


209 


was just where I had been before ; but the rest would come in 
time. Let me consider. What could I do to deserve the con- 
fidence of the association, to rise in rank, and so acquire the 
means of being useful ? How 1 Avished to achieve some great 
exploit, but I could not tell what. Ah ! if that floating image, 
which has constantly haunted me of late, and which I always 
cherish in my secret soul, Avould take a body, and encourage 
me, if only by a gesture, of what should I not be capable ! . . . . 
In the midst of these vague thoughts, sleep overtook me, and 
the impression of the past hours, taking fantastic shapes, were 
reproduced in my dreams. 

In the morning I made haste to claim recognition from 
CiEsar, by means of a mysterious sign. Caesar showed himself 
agreeably surprised, as afterward did Fantasio, at this piece 
of intelligence. I followed the example of their reserve, and 
kept to myself my conjectures with respect to the two domi- 
noes of the preceding evening. I told Fantasio that in future 
it was from him I Avas to Avait for orders. Would that they 
might quickly come ! I thanked him, at the same time, for 
having proposed and got me received, in spite of the objection 
of age. It had not been without some difficulty, hinted Fan- 
tasio, that he had succeeded. The order, as he said, was very 
strict on this point. 

So at last I have reached Archimedes’ resting point, and may 
now move heaven and earth ! The wish that has tantalized 
me so long is at length realized ! I am one of the free men 
— I have brethren throughout the whole world — my life has 
now an aim ! Hoav proud I feel of myself — with what pro- 
found pity do I look doAvn upon the mass of mj profane com- 
panions ! I dream of dangers, of sacrifice, of success, bought 
by a noble death — of glory — of what not? 

But a man can not always dream. So I began a course of 
studies in physiognomy, of which Lavater himself might have 
been jealous. Taking it for granted that tAvo persons out of 
ten whom I met in the street belonged to the sect, it remained 
for me to determine which were the tAvo elect, and this could 
not be done Avithout a close scrutiny of all the individuals who 
passed. That fair-haired young man — was he one? or that 


210 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


fine dark fellow yonder? Of course, all those who had re- 
markable features or a foreign air, all those in particular who 
wore the forbidden mustaches, could not fail to be Carbonari ! 
Two or three times I liazarded the signs without obtaining any 
answer, but not without trembling from head to foot at the 
thought of the injunction I had received on this head, and of 
the invisible eye which watched all my motions. As to the 
tall domino, I identified him at least ten times with ten differ- 
ent persons. Thus I employed the leisure left me by the 
order, which chose to prolong my honey-moon beyond the 
usual term, apparently that I might enjoy to the full all the 
sweets of our mystical union. 

Two months had glided past since the day of my affiliation, 
and to my question fifty times repeated, “ Any orders for me ?” 
Fantasio had as often answered me by a significant shrug of 
the shoulders. I began to fret and grumble. Not that my 
faith in the extent or the power of the sect was in the least 
degree shaken, but I thought it humiliating, with all my good 
will, to be left aside like useless lumber. As to Csesar, who, 
although my senior in the order by four months at least, was 
apparently in the same predicament with myself, if he did not 
explicitly say that I was right, he showed by expressive ges- 
tures that he rather shared my impressions. Neither was 
Fantasio satisfied ; but from the fear of injuring discipline, he 
tried to dissemble his discontent. “A little more patience, 
and I should see. One of the cousins, a traveller, was just 
come from Paris, hearer of definitive orders,'^ he would add, in 
a mysterious tone. Very glad I was that the cousin had had a 
good journey ; but for my part, I confess, I should have pre- 
ferred something more substantial. , 

Fantasio came to me early one morning Jooking bright, and 
in high spirits. “ Did I not tell you so, you faithless man ? I 
have an order for you.” At the word “ order,” I pricked up 
my ears, like a war-horse left long at rest, at sound of trumpet. 
“ At last ?” exclaimed I, drawing a long breath of satisfac- 
tion, “ and what is the news?” — “ The news is that you must 
have the goodness to betake yourself, at twelve o’clock to- 
night, to the bridge of Carignano. We are all convoked 


CONVOCATION THE ACCORDION. 


211 


there.” — “ God bless you! are we really?” replied I. “And 
to what purpose?” — “I can not tell,” returned Fantasio ; 
“all I know is that we are to go armed — such are the 
orders.” Armed I this was more than enough to fire my 
imagination. “ Armed, did you say ? This looks like a rising, 
Fantasio, does it not?” — “ If it does not, I do not know what 
does,” was the answer. “At all events, we shall see. Do you 
and CjEsar come, and call for me at my house about half-past 
ten o’clock — good-by I” 

No doubt the decisive moment is come at last. If it were 
not for action, of what use would arms be ? All my enthu- 
siasm rekindles I How« I reproach myself for my unreasonable 
distrust — how odiously absurd I seem to myself! I will shed 
the last drop of my blood, if need be, to make amends. Not a 
moment to be lost. Quick ! Caesar and I ransack the house; 
all the forgotten old arms we can find pass a strict exami- 
nation ; we make a selection, and we go out to buy ammuni- 
tion. — The day seemed dreadfully long. At last ten o’clock 
struck. In a moment we were armed like two highwaymen, 
each of us with a sword-stick, two pocket and two horse pistols. 
Thus accoutred, and enveloped to the chin in our cloaks, we 
sallied forth with the resolute step of men (b h'nnined to con- 
quer or to die. 

Fantasio was ready, armed to the teeth, and we set out arm 
in arm. From the Acquaverde, where Fantasio lived, to the 
bridge of Carignano is a pretty good distance, but it did not 
appear long to us, so earnestly were we discussing impending 
events. We laid down our plan of campaign, and solemnly 
engaged, whatever might happen, to keep together, and not 
be separated in the affray. The night was just such as con- 
spirators could wish, dark as pitch, and pretty cold for the 
season. As we came upon the bridge of Carignano, some notes 
from an accordion were heard. The melancholy modulations 
took me quite by surprise, and had a singularly powerful effect 
upon me. A chill ran through me from head to foot. Fan- 
tasio pressed my arm. The accordion was the instrument 
adopted by the Good Cousins to transmit signals to a distance. 
We made toward the point whence tb.e sounds proceeded, and 


212 


LORENZO BENONI. 


found a man wrapped in a cloak, with whom we exchanged 
some words of recognition. The man bade us follow him. 
We took to the left of the church of Santa ]\Iaria, and passing 
through a little lane, came to a solitary open square space, 
where once stood the palace of Fieschi. Here we were told 
to stop, and had to wait some time. The retired and secluded 
spot was well chosen for the occasion. It seems that we 
are the first,” whispered I to Fantasio, seeing no one. “ Look 
to the left of the square,” answered Fantasio, and you will see 
that we are not alone.” And in truth, by dint of straining 
my eyes, I did think that I distinguished on the spot to which 
he pointed, some human forms. “ This square is very small,” 
observed I, “ and if the convocation is general, I do not know 
how it can hold us all. Have you any idea of the number of 
Good Cousins in Genoa?” — “ Thousands and thousands,” an- 
swered Fantasio ; “ but it is probable there may he partial 
convocations at several points.” 

Our guide, who had vanished, now reappeared, and desired 
us to follow him onward, which we did. A movement toward 
the left of the square took place simultaneously among the 
living shadows scattered about, till, at the word “Halt!” from 
our guide, all stopped. There were four small distinct groups, 
including ours, standing at short distances from each other — 
in all, fifteen persons. I counted them, hut without being able 
to recognise individuals, wrapped in cloaks and in the shade 
of night. A short pause. Twelve began to strike at the 
church of Carignano, close by. With the first stroke, a tall 
figure, hitherto concealed in a dark corner, rose to view, like 
a ghost from underground, and pronounced in a hollow voice 

the following words : — “ Pray for the soul of of Cadiz, 

sentenced to death by the High Vendita, for perjury and 
treason to the order. Before the twelfth stroke has died 
away, he will have ceased to live.” The clock tolled slowly 
on. The echo of the last chime was still vibrating, wdien the 
voice added, “Disperse !” and each group moved off. 

What effect this sqene — well got up certainly, only too 
well — may have had upon the rest of the spectators, I never 
had an opportunity of knowing; hut the too evident melo- 


213 


.TIIK FEDEKATI.” 

dramatic arrangement of the whole thing was an entire failure 
as regarded us three. It might perhaps have been otherv’ise, 
had our minds been less worked up beforehand. As it was, 
we saw at a glance, instinctively, that all this bloody tale was, 
thank God, a mere fiction, and that, if our cousin of Cadiz 
met no worse mishap than the one alluded to by the sepulchral 
voice, he might live to a good old age. So the stirring emo- 
tions of this endless day, this mystery, this arming, had all 
been for the mere purpose of figuring in a miserable stage 
trick, in bad taste, and of listening to a goblin story scarce fit 
to frighten children. It was too bad. 

Fantasio was in a state of consternation. He allowed that 
we had been played upon, but he threw all the blame on the 
big-wigs of the order, as he called them ; all men of a certain 
age, and distrustful of youth ; unwilling, therefore, to employ 
us in any serious matter, but anxious at the same time to keep 
alive our ardor, and maintain our high idea of the sect. Not- 
withstanding all this, it was no less true and certain that the 
order was powerful — that it had roots everywhere, and was 
not to be trifled with. “ We are in for it now,” said Fantasio, 
“ and so we must remain. “ Perhaps it would have been 
better to have realized my former plan of association ; but 
regret is vain, and our oath prevents anything of the kind.” 
(One of the articles of the oath, in fact, forbade the Good 
Cousins joining any other secret society.) “ But nothing 
stands in the way of our creating for ourselves an independent 
sphere of action. Now, this is what I propose : that each of 
us should sound those of his acquaintances whom he considers 
worthy, and secure their co-operation for the day of action. 
No affiliation, no oath, no secret signs, nothing of what is 
characteristic of secret societies. Let there be a mere verbal 
promise to come forth when called on. It was in this way 
that in 1821 each Carbonaro surrounded himself with a number 
of willing adherents, who were bound by no oath, and who 
were called Federati. Let us do the same. We shall thus 
have the double advantage of giving employment to our 
activity, and of preparing precious elements for the triumph of 
the common cause. What do you say ? 


214 


LORENZO BENONI. 


We entered with all our heart into the views of our friend, 
and it was agreed that we should associate in this our inde- 
pendent work Alfred and Sforza (the latter of whom, by-the- 
by, was the first on Fantasio’s list of presentation for a Car- 
honaro), and that we should begin operations on the morrow. 
We might have said, on this very day, for it was three o’clock 
in the morning, when, tired of talking and wandering about, 
we parted from Fantasio. Fortunately, this time our long 
nocturnal walk had given umbrage to no one, not even to the 
carabineers, of whom we had met several couples, and who let 
UB pass undisturbed. 


SANTINA. 


215 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

INTOXICATING EFFECTS OF A LETTER THE INVISIBLE GODDESS 

BECOMES VISIBLE BLISSFUL MEETING. 

That same day, when I came in to dinner, Santina handed 
me a letter. My reader will remember Santina, the daughter 
of the rector’s housekeeper at San Secondo — that strange- 
looking girl, whom we used to call the Gipsy. At the request 
of her mother, mine took her into our service. A very odd, 
wilful creature, this Santina ; sometimes skulking away for 
hours, heedless of the call of any one ; sometimes sulking at 
one or other of the family, so far as neither to speak to, nor 
look at him for days ; hut so quick withal, so intelligent, so 
considerate, so attached, that in spite of her whims she was 
a favorite with everybody at home. 

“Who sent it?” said I, taking the letter, which Santina 
held toward me. 

“ I don’t know,” answered the girl moodily ; “ the man who 
brought it said you would know.” 

It was a small letter, glossy, elegant, and perfumed. The 
seal represented a little Cupid with his finger on his lip, and 
the motto was “ Discretion.” While I was examining the 
seal, Santina added, “ It is a lady’s letter.” 

“How do you know?” 

“ I am sure of it ; see if it isn’t.” 

I opened the note, and cast my eye over the few lines it 
contained. Santina was right. I felt as if a flame thrilled 
through me from head to foot. 

“ Didn’t I tell you so ?” returned Santina, with a curl of 
her lip. 


216 


LORENZO BP:N0NI. 


“Now, don’t be foolish, Santina!” and away I sped to my 
own room. The letter ran thus : — 

“ I know your secret. I know to wdiat a noble task you 
have devoted yourself. Souls like yours do not want encour- 
agement ; but you may perhaps not be soriy to learn that a 
friend takes an interest in you, and follows you with her best 
'Wishes. If this sympathy is welcome, be to-morrow at the 
Acquasola between four and six o’clock in the afternoon, and 
wear a white camellia in your button-hole. Not a word of 
this to any living soul. You do not know me, but you shall 
in proper time and place, if you are discreet. In the mean- 
while, think sometimes of her who often thinks of you.” 

The first impression of this letter was almost painful from 
its very intensity. Strange, that the effects of strong joy and 
grief should be so near akin ! My heart beat as if it would 
fly out of its prison to meet the beautiful unknown. I felt 
oppressed, almost suffocated, by my happiness. But this was 
soon over, and gave way to a gentle flow of unmixed delight. 
Oh, joy of joys ! oh, rapture beyond compare ! My dream of 
love is realized, my ideal has taken a shape and body ! I am 
beloved ! What intoxication in the very word ! The angel 
of my visions is come down from the' seventh heaven to take 
me by the hand ! There is something within me like a celes- 
tial concert ! All the fibres of my being vibrate in delicious 
harmony ! 

I was in the very act of covering with kisses the blessed 
note, when a knock at the door recalled me from my ecstacy. 
“ What is it ?” 

“ Dinner is on the table.” 

“ Oh vile prose ! plague upon dinner ! What man can 
think of dining who has in his heart all the honey of Hy- 
mettus 1 nay, who is saturated with nectar and ambrosia 
Thus soliloquizing, I hid the precious letter on my heart, and 
down I went. At the door of the dining-room Santina stood, 
and frowned upon me. I knew her odd ways, and took no 
notice. Of course I was not hungry, and could not eat. I 
longed for the end of the meal, to be once more alone with my 
secret. At last we rose from table, and I was free. 


A IIEAKT-orK.N" II. 


217 


Once more in my room, I locked myself in, drew forth the 
darling epistle, spread it out upon the table before me, and 
sat there gazing upon it, as if my eyes could conjure out of it 
the name, the surname, and address of the fair writer. But as 
the words remained unmoved, and there was no appearance 
of a miraculous working among the letters, I soon grew weary 
of this fruitless contemplation, and restless to boot; so I took 
my hat, and went out. I walked straight on, without any 
aim, like one in a dream, yet hurrying forward, as if upon 
some errand of life and death. Human figures moved around 
me, as in a mist, and I distinguished no one. At last I saw 
that I was in the country, and alone. Here I slackened my 
pace, and turned into a solitary path. 

It was in early April. The air was clear, the verdure so 
fresh, the sun so bright ! Only yesterday everything looked 
cold and wintry. What a wonderful change ! All hail to 
thee, sweet nature ! never have I admired thee so much, never 
have I felt thee so intensely as at this moment. Art thou 
really more lovely than usual, or is it the joy I bear within 
my heart, that casts this beauteous coloring over thee 1 A 
feeling of infinite tenderness overflowed my whole being, I 
loved the very cows that were grazing quietly in the sunshine. 
An old woman came up to me, and asked charity. Her hus- 
band was sick in the hospital, and she was miserable. The 
very word sounded in my ear like a discord, almost like a 
reproach. Ought any one to be unhappy on such a day as 
this “? “ Here, my good woman V* and I gave her all the little 

money that I had. Would I were rich, she should have 
bread, at least, secured to her for life. I would have done it, 
and told her so. She looked at me, half thankful half amazed. 
“ It is a lovely day, is it not, good dame V’ — “ Fine weather 
enough for sowing the crops, if it does but last,” answered she 
with a doubtful shake of the head. If it does but last ! Why 
should it not ? How eternally full of misgivings these old 
folks are ! 

Who can my unknown be? what her station in life? what 
the style of her beauty ? that she was lovely was a settled 
point, but there remained to be determined the character of 

10 


218 


LOKKNZO CENONT. 


her loveliness ; is she fair or dark, tall or small, slender like a 
fairy, or majestic like a Juno ? Such were the qiiestions that 
I asked myself for the hundredth time as I went along, and 
which for the hundredth time remained without an answer. 
But the riddle of riddles, that which left not even an opening 
to conjecture, was, “ how could she have got at my secret V* 
Could she belong to the order? I had heard Fantasio say 
more than once, that women were sometimes admitted. But 
if such were the case, was it likely that she should have re- 
sisted the temptation of letting me know, which she could by 
the simplest written sign, that she was a “ cousin.” And then, 
the supposition of her belonging to the sect did not solve my 
difficulty, for the affiliated did not know each other. For one 
instant the idea flashed across me, that my mysterious corres- 
pondent was no other than the domino accoutred like a woman ; 
but I rejected the suggestion with horror. Was it not a prof- 
anation to attribute those huge feet of the short domino to my 
fairy queen, for whom I was sure that Cinderella’s slipper 
would be too large ! Besides, by all my previous impressions 
it was settled beyond question, that the short domino was a 
man. By the way, what a pity she had signed no Christian 
name ! I should then at least have had something of her to 
adore. What an odd destiny was mine, thus to pass from 
mystery to mystery ! one was no sooner solved than up started 
another. At all events, that of to-day would be unravelled on 
the evening of the morrow. Whatever she might do to pass 
unobserved, I was sure I should know her. I should be lynx- 
eyed. What a bliss to recognise her, to tell her, “ Yes, yes, 
it is you, I know it by the beating of my heart;” to see her 
confusion ; to hear for the first time the sound of her voice. 
In such longings and imaginings I spent the rest of the day, 
one of the happiest in my life, for there is no happiness like 
that of anticipation. 

But it is ordained, alas ! that there should be no unmixed 
felicity here below. As I read the letter over again before 
going to bed, a circumstance I had scarcely noticed, or rather 
wilfully overlooked, in the morning, now startled me con- 
siderably. It was like one of those wounds that pass unper- 


THE CAMELLIA. 


219 


ceh ed in the heat of action, hut the smart of which makes 
itself felt when the blood begins to cool. I could not now 
shut my eyes to a fault in spelling, a rather gross one too. 
The same word was misspelled twice, an aggravating circum- 
stance, with a double instead of a single r. These two letters 
stared me in the face, and made me uneasy. It was a drop 
of vinegar in the cup of my bliss, the crumpled rose leaf in 
Sybarite’s bed. I could not get from before my eyes those two 
unlucky r’s, they pursued me even in my dreams, distorting 
themselves into all sorts of fantastic shapes, and whirling 
around me like imps of Satan. 

Next morning, my first thought of course was my rendezvous 
for the afternoon, and as I felt rather shy at the idea of peram- 
bulating the Acquasola all alone in search of my unknown 
beauty, I felt the expediency of taking Alfred with me, which 
I knew I could do without letting him at all into my secret. 
For I had made up my mind to confide it to no one. It 
grieved me to have a secret from my bosom friends — it was 
the first, but discretion had been enjoined so earnestly, that I 
could not but feel in honor bound to observe the behest. So 
I went to Alfred, and merely told him that we would take a 
walk in the afternoon, and that he was to wait for me. 

It is said, that of two friends one is always the victim. The 
saying may be true, inasmuch as of the two there is generally 
one who follows the lead of the other. In this point of view, 
Alfred might be called my victim. He never used to ask 
where we were going, or why we went one way rather than 
another, or how long we should stay, or anything of the sort, 
but always let me choose for him. It was scarcely three 
o’clock when I called on him. My toilet was simple but irre- 
proachable ; my hat, an article of paramount importance with 
me, fitted me to a nicety, and set off my black curls to advan- 
tage. A white camellia, large enough to be seen at a distance, 
ornamented my buttonhole. 

Alfred was ready. “ Heyday,” said he on seeing me, “ what 
a smart flower !” — “A beautiful camellia, isn’t it?” and we 
sallied forth. At ten minutes to four we were at the Acquasola. 
It was Sunday, and the avenue on the right, the most fre- 


220 


LORENZO BENONI. 


qiiented one, was already crowded. We paced it up and 
down several times, I staring ladies in the face for the first 
time in my life, but to no purpose. As the afternoon wore on, 
the number of persons in the walk increased, and my task of 
reviewer became more and more difficult in the midst of the 
throng. Bless me ! how that fair-haired girl in the blue gown 
looked at me ! I turned short round, and dragged Alfred with 
me after her. We had not gone fifty paces, when lo ! what a 
glance that brunette with the step of a Juno threw at me! 
Another turn, about as sharp as the first, and otf I set, towing 
Alfred in pursuit of the dark-eyed beauty. We follow her, we 
pass her, we let her^ass. It is not she. She has not even 
turned her head my way. Let us go and look about us a little 
in the less-frequented avenue on the left. To be sure, now 
that I think of it, my unknown will be walking there. Love 
does not like crowds. We paced up and down this other 
avenue. In vain I opened my coat, in vain displayed my 
camellia to its best advantage, none of the fair paid any atten- 
tion to the camellia or its wearer. “ Suppose we go back to 
the right hand avenue, it is so dusty here.” — “Do you think 
so ?” observed Alfred, and followed me with angelic resigna- 
tion. Six o’clock passed, and not the least clew to my myste- 
rious friend. “ Let us sit down a little, and look at the people 
passing.” We were scarcely seated when the dark beauty 
came by, and looked at me again. No further doubt, it is she. 
And we rushed forward once more in pursuit. No, no, it is 
not she, unless she be a very Tiberius of dissimulation in petti- 
coats. We went on manoeuvring in this sort of way till night- 
fall. — There is an end of it. No more hope left. I was born 
to be tantalized. 

One week, two weeks, three weeks elapsed, and no tidings^^ 
What can a man in such a predicament do but write sonnets ? 
Petrarch did, and so did I; but Petrarch had a great advan- 
tage over me, which may partly account for the superiority of 
his performance ; he knew very well the color of the eyes and 
hair, and the number of syllables forming the name of the 
beauty he sang, while I was in total ignorance of all these 
particulars. Still I scribbled, and scribbled, and might have 


THK ITALIAN COLOES. 


221 


scribbled on to tliis day, bad not a fresh note come to stop me. 
This time, thank my stars, there was no misspelling. It is 
true that the letter was very short. 

“ The white camellia has given much pleasure ; thank you 
If you go to-morrow morning at nine to the church of the Oap- 
pucini, you will find at the farther end of the last bench but 
one a remembrance from your unknown friend. Adieu.” 

These few lines cost me a night’s sleep. I went the next 
morning to the church, and found at the spot appointed a mag- 
nificent nosegay of white and red camellias, forming the three 
Italian colors, white, red, and green. To seize the nosegay, 
rush home, and throw myself in adoration before it, was the 
work of a moment. I shall not detail all the foolish, fond 
things I did with respect to my nosegay. Such of my readers 
as are in love — and I hope for their sakes they may be nu- 
merous — would find it all charming; but those who are not, 
would think it extremely insipid. Suffice it to say, that my 
heart feasted upon these flowers for weeks ; and that when it 
began to crave new food, my mysterious correspondent con- 
trived for me another agreeable surprise of the same kind. 
This time it was a beautiful purse — the three colors again, 
upon which my initials were worked in hair — her own hair, of 
course, black as jet. Could it have been of any other color ? — 

0 prescience of love ! with just such hair I had dreamt of her ! 

Perhaps it may be thought that love had made me forget 

politics. Far from it. I owe myself this justice to say that, 
if my love-adventure had given additional excitement to the 
romantic turn of my imagination, it had also elated what I 
may venture to call the more generous faculties of my soul. 

1 felt it a sacred duty to her who had cast her eyes upon me, 
to render myself as worthy of her as possible; and having no 
opportunity for more brilliant deeds, I pursued with ardor the 
task — certainly humble, but useful, and not unaccompanied 
by danger — which, in concert with Fantasio and Caesar, I had 
undertaken about two months before. And not only had I 
succeeded in gathering round me a certain number of willing 
followers, but I had found an unexpected, and most precious 
auxiliary, in the person of the young Prince d’Urbino. 


222 


LORENZO BENONI. 


Of him I had completely lost sight since I had left school, 
till one day, some five or six weeks back, whom should I alight 
on in the street hut my hot-tempered colleague in the consul- 
ship ? We met at once like old friends, and it was quite a 
treat to see my quondam comrade’s plump, rosy, open face 
glow at the recollection of our childish feats. There was 
scarcely any change in the outward man — he had grown some- 
what stouter — and none in the inward one. The Prince d’Ur- 
bino, or Vather plain Giuseppe, as he insisted on being called, 
was as easy and unassuming as when he had made a motion 
for the abolition of all titles, and as ardent a devotee of liberty 
and hater of tyranny as when he had condemned to ostracism 
one half of the second division. He had spent all his time, 
since leaving school, at Naples, where, to use his own expres- 
sion, “ things were in a devil of a state, and soldiers, priests, 
and spies, had it all their own way.” He Avas now as good as 
settled in Genoa, Avhere he had been sent by his family to look 
after a lawsuit, which had already been going on for twenty 
years, and promised to keep going for half a century longer. 

I introduced him to Fantasio and to Caesar (Alfred and 
Sforza he had known of old), with whose concurrence he soon 
became an active associate in our secret work — I^mean the 
federating scheme ; for of the other, that is, our participation 
in the sect of Carbonari, he was left in perfect ignorance. We 
had the most unlimited confidence in the prince, but the secret 
of the sect was not ours, and we made it a rule to preserve it 
strictly. The only deviation from this mle had been in favor 
of Alfred and Sforza, to whom enough had been told to let 
them guess the rest. But Alfred was the candidate^of my 
choice, whom I was to put forward as soon as I should have 
the right of presentation; Sforza was Fantasio’s, as I have 
mentioned, and this made a difference. 

But love and politics had seriously encroached upon my 
studies. For almost the last half-yea,r I had not opened a law- 
book, and my attendance at the lectures had become so rare 
within the last two months, that I entertained great misgiv- 
ings as to the possibility of obtaining the indispensable signa- 
tures from at least two of my professors. Thanks, however, 


FLATTEKING THE rHOFESSOR RECONNOITRING. 223 

to A method of my own, which I shall explain for the gratifi- 
cation of the reader, I succeeded in overcoming the difficulty. 
About a week before the end of the quarter, I became very 
assiduous in my attendance at the lecture, and chose a con- 
spicuous place, as near as possible to the professor’s desk. As 
soon as dictation was over, and the oral explanation had be- 
gun, I would listen to it with an interest as intense as if my 
life were staked upon not losing a word, and now and then 
indulge in nods and jerks expressive of repressed admiration. 
Such, alas ! is the weakness of the flesh, that no professor — 
no, not one — was proof against this dumb flattery; and I rec- 
ommend this recipe as infallible, to all students who may par- 
ticularly wish to propitiate their masters. 

On the morning of the fifth of June — such dates are not 
easily forgotten — there came another note from my anony- 
mous correspondent. It was as neatly folded, as sweetly 
scented, as elegant in all respects, as the two former ones; 
but there was a^ fresh seal, a dove with a sprig in its bill, and 
the motto, “ 1 bear good nevjs." The news was good indeed ! 

“ Your unknown friend will be this evening at the Acqua- 
sola, in the grove on the south side of the middle fountain. 
You will recognise her by the nosegay of roses she will have 
in her hand. If you wish to know her, be there at half-past 
eight o’clock, not a minute sooner nor later. Adieu till then.” 

It is easy to conceive the state of flutter and agitation into 
which I was thrown by this note. I should then know her at 
last! How should I behave? What should I say to her? 
Suppose she were to find me awkward ? 

It was not yet twelve o’clock. I had still nine hours to 
remain upon this sort of gridiron. To pass the time, I went 
to identify the spot, although I knew it perfectly, and to re- 
hearse in anticipation the complex emotions of the blissful 
meeting. Let me see ; by which side shall I enter the grove? 
If by either of the great avenues, I must walk for a consider- 
able distance within her ken, and I feel that the idea of her 
looking at me puts me out of countenance, only to think of it. 
The great avenues will not do. But there is another entrance 
through that winding path behind — if I could only get to the 


LORENZO BENONI. 


224 

winfling path iinperceived. Yes, I can manage it, if I take « 
round by the carriage-road — a long circuit, but what matters 
that? the road is sunk below the level of the public walk, and 
the hedge that skirts it will screen me from her view. That 
is it. I shall come upon her almost unawares. Now, what 
shall be my first words to her ? I am sure I shall look like a 
goose. If I only knew her name ! her name would put me at 
ease. What a faint heart I have! — I am as timid as a girl. 
The idea of meeting her glance makes me tremble. If it were 
only dusk, I should have more courage. After all, at half-past 
eight the day is on the w’ane, the grove is thick, and it will be 
darker there. A weeping-willow forms a sort of canopy over 
the bench on which she will be seated. A blessing on the 
band that planted it ! These reflections reassured me a little ; 
the shades of evening would conceal my embarrassment. 

It was one of those intolerably hot days — thirty degrees 
Reaumur — which make tourists write down in their notebooks 
that Italians never do anything but lie idly in the shade. 
Pray, Mr. Tourist, get into a heated oven, and work hard there, 
if you can ! Well, the sun darted fire, as if he were bent upon 
at once exterminating mankind, by the summary process of 
melting them down ; and by the time I had completed my sur- 
vey, I was like a hissing iron plunged into water. I should 
have wished to go and while away an hour or two with Fan- 
tasio, but walking so far was beyond human possibility, and I 
went home. How the hours lagged I I tried to read — impos- 
sible ! I tried to sleep : I w^as so worn out by the heat and 
my emotion, it w^ould not do. I have heard of generals sleep- 
ing quietly on the eve of a battle, and I can understand that ; 
but sleeping a few hours before a first rendezvous, passes the 
powers of flesh and blood. My sole remaining resource was to 
fret and fume, which I did to my heart’s content : but fret and 
fume as I w^ould, time did not hasten its unchanging course, 
and I was e’en obliged to wait for the evening. 

At eight o’clock I was on the Acquasola. For fear of some 
unfortunate rencontre, I stole into a corner, as far from the 
place of meeting as the ground would allow, and kept gazing 
on the Mediterranean, without seeing it. The loveliness of the 


A WAKING DREAM. 


225 


evening, the rich tints of the setting sun, were alike lost upon 
me. Confused images succeeded each other in my head, like 
the waves of a troubled sea. One only distinct idea floated on 
the surface — “in half an hour!” I was worked up to a state 
of spasmodic agitation. The clock of a neighboring church 
struck a quarter past eight. I was startled. “ Already I” It 
seemed to me now that time went too fast : I should never be 
able to regain my self-possession. I rose as with a superhu- 
man effort, and walked on. I had to make a circuit to get to 
the winding path I have mentioned. I am sure I do not know 
how I reached it. “ One step more, and I shall be within sight 
of the grove.” I felt ready to faint. I hoped, earnestly hoped, 
that she had not come. She might be prevented, perhaps, by 
illness. The half-hour struck. A secret power, something 
like a spring independent of my will, forced me on. I saw 
distinctly two figures in white. My sight grew dim ; but I 
perceived, as in a mist, a hand gently extended toward me, 
and I rushed to receive it. 

Who spoke first, what was said, how I came to be by her 
side — of all this I have not the least recollection. I was in a 
waking dream. Most likely I did not speak at all, I was so- 
moved. The interview was very short, and very little was 
said on either side : if I were to repeat the little which I do 
recollect, it would afford no meaning, unless I could also write 
down that which gave it so deep a meaning for us — the look, 
the accent, the very silence. Now, as written language has 
no signs for such things, I give up the task as an impossible 
one. Who she was, who were her parents, what was her sta- 
tion in life, how she had got possession of my secret — of all 
this I knew nothing, and I had not even thought of asking 
her. I only, knew this, that she was passing beautiful, that her 
name was Lilia — a pretty name, is it not? — that, between 
four and five o’clock in the afternoon, she would walk every 
day with her brother on the bastions of Santa Chiara, and that 
every day I must go and see her. Oh, to be sure, I would not 
fail, even if I were to go there on my knees, and kiss her foot- 
steps in the dust ! This was all I knew. It was very little, 
and yet I did not care to know more. I was so happy I 


226 


LORENZO BENONI. 


She had been gone for hours, but there I was still, sitting 
upon the same bench, in the very place her gentle form had 
filled, feeling still the soft pressure of her hand in mind, the 
music of her voice still ringing in my ear. All trace of agita- 
tion had ceased within me, the heatings of my heart were calm 
and regular as an infant’s, a sense of quiet beatitude pervaded 
my whole being. The stars shone bright, the nightingales 
sang very sweetly, thousands of fire-flies glanced in the air, 
which seemed impregnated with love. It was like a fairy 
dream. I remained there long, inhaling happiness at every 
pore, and kissing the hunch of roses she had left with me. 

When I went home, my mother was struck with my air of 
contentment. “ How handsome you are this evening, my dar- 
ling !” said she, as she passed her hand through my hair; “ I 
never saw you look to such advantage.” 

“ I feel so happy !” answered I, as I kissed her, blushing. 

“ God bless thee, my own dear son !” 

I went to bed repeating aloud those incomparable verses of 
Petrarch, “ Chiare fresche dolci acque,” substituting the name 
of Lilia for that of Laura, and I slept all night without once 
awaking. 


THE UNKNOWN LOVED ONE. 


227 


CHAPTER XXV. 

NEW KIDDIE DISCOVERIES 1830 TWO DOCTORS ADDED TO 

THE STOCK DARK CLOUD BETWEEN MY SUN AND ME. 

The next day, going over in my mind every the slightest 
circumstance of my meeting of the preceding evening, the first 
impression I had received from Lilia’s voice came over me 
again most forcibly. That intonation, which still rang in my 
ear — that rich and melodious Italian, which was so fascina- 
ting from her lips — recalled a voice and a pe»3uliar Italian 
accent which I had already heard ; but when, where, from 
whom ? That was just what I could not recollect. In vain 
I ransacked my memory — in vain I tortured my brain — I 
could not find the slightest clew to the enigma. My curiosity 
was much roused by the circumstance, and I promised myself 
to catch at the first opportunity which might offer, to mention 
the matter to Lilia, and see if she could throw any light up- 
on it. 

But this opportunity did not soon occur. I received fresh 
letters from her, but there was no word of another meeting. 
It was impossible for me to solicit one, as I knew neither her 
name nor her address, and even if I had been acquainted with 
them I should never have dared to send her a letter without 
permission. It is true that I saw her every day on the ram- 
parts of Santa Cdiiara, which had become my indispensable 
daily walk ; but then she was always accompanied by a young 
man, tall, dark, ancl of very striking appearance — no doubt 
her brother — and of course I could only exchange with her a 
stolen glance or furtive smile. Nevertheless, I was happy. 

To see, admire, adore her in silence, to follow the trace left 


228 


LORENZO BEXO.Xr. 


by her divine foot, was more than enough for bliss. How 
beautiful she was, with her long flowing hair curling around 
her neck, her slim and elegant figure, her step so resolute, yet 
so girlish ! One day a stoppage was occasioned in the road 
by two carriages running against each other, and I could not 
help passing near enough to her to feel and hear the rustle of 
her silk dress against my coat. Another time, as I was fol- 
lowing her, she quietly dropped a rose. How many kisses 
did I give that flower! — with what tenderness did I nurse 
it! — and when it was quite faded, with what pious care did 
I collect and preserve the withered leaves ! Happy age, 
when a look, the rustle of a garment, a flower, a mere nothing, 
suffices to make the youthful soul overflow with torrents of 

joy! 

Lilia wrote to me one evening that she was going next 
morning at eight o’clock to choose some plants in a nursery- 
ground, which she named to me, near the Porta Romana. If 
I wished to see her I had but to go to the place, under pretext 
of buying flowers. Of course that was enough for me ; and at 
eight next morning I was already confabulating with the old 
nurseryman, whom I complimented on his fine collection of 
plants, and the excellent care with which he kept his garden. 
Lilia came soon after, accompanied by her maid — she never 
stirred from home unattended. In order to make a proper 
choice it was indispensable to examine in detail the rich 
collection before us, and as the garden was very large, this 
review must of course take some time ; so we begged the 
gardener not to put himself out of the way on our account, but 
to go on with his work, while we walked round, the maid fol- 
lowing at some distance. We were no sooner alone than I 
made haste to touch upon the point that had so much awakened 
my curiosity. “ I do not know how it is,” said I, “ that your 
voice, when heard for the first time, sounded like one not 
unknown to me. Can you explain this phenomenon ?” 

Lilia smiled, and answered, “ nothing more easy. When I 
tell you how I came to know you, and to discover your secret, 
the mystery that puzzles you will be at once cleared up. Let 
us appear to examine this beautiful rose-tree, and listen to me.” 


THE ALCOVE. 


229 


“ I have but one near relation left, the young man with 
whom you have seen me. My brother and I love each othei 
tenderly, and we live together. One day at the end of the 
last carnival — it was Shrove-Tuesday — Alberto, who is always 
kindly thinking of what may give me pleasure, came and told 
me that he had arranged a party for me in the evening; I was 
to go to the opera with one of my cousins and her husband, 
and after the opera we were all three to put on fancy dresses, 
and spend a part of the night at the veglione. Alberto had 
some engagement and could not accompany me, but he prom- 
ised to come and meet us in the course of the night at the 
veglione. 

“ That evening the theatre was lighted with extraordinary 
brilliancy ; the house was full, and the heat oppressive. To- 
ward the end of the opera I was seized with such a violent 
headache that I was forced to give up the second part of the 
intended amusement, though sorely against my will, and I 
begged my cousin to bring me home about midnight. My 
brother’s apartment and mine face each other on the same 
landing-place. Just as I was entering my room, it struck me 
that I would see whether Alberto might not also have come in. 
His door was open, and I entered. Seeing his lamp lighted, 
and a blazing fire upon the hearth, I concluded that he would 
be at home ere long, and thought I would wait and tell him 
why I had returned. I seated myself in an arm-chair by the 
side of the fire, and soon fell into a doze. 

“ How long after I do not know, the sound of footsteps 
awoke me with a start. Evidently several persons were ap- 
proaching; I jumped up frightened, and mechanically con- 
cealed myself behind the curtain of the alcove. Thence 
I witnessed that scene you know of with an emotion which 
you may picture to yourself.” Modesty obliges me to sup- 
press the part of Lilia’s account relative to the impression 
made upon her by my looks and bearing during the initiation. 

“ There was a moment,” continued she, “in which you fixed 
your eyes so intently on the alcove that I trembled lest I 
should be discovered. I perfectly understood the importance 
of the secret I had unintentionally become acquainted with, and, 


230 


LORENZO BENONI. 


notwithstanding Alberto’s tender affection for me, I dreaded 
the moment when he should become aware that I knew things 
which it was not intended I should know. Luckily my brother 
went out, and I made the best of my way from the room. It 
was Alberto who always spoke that evening. His voice is 
very like mine, which will explain the phenomenon you have 
just now mentioned.” 

Lilia’s time was limited, and we broke off here for the pres- 
ent ; but the garden was too beautiful, and too convenient a 
place, for us not to feel inclined to visit it again. So to it we 
returned, at first once a-week, then twice, then .... well, 
never mind how often. The fact is, we became great friends 
with the old gardener, and strolled about his grounds as freely 
as if they had been our own. Lilia was very fond of chatting, 
and from one discovery to another I soon came to be acquainted 
with all that I wished to know about her. 

Her father had belonged to one of the most illustrious fami- 
lies of the Genoese aristocracy. When very young he had 
fallen in love with an actress and married her. This marriage, 
considered as quite derogatory to him, alienated from him the 
greater number of the privileged class among whom he had 
been accustomed to move. He would have easily consoled 
himself for this, so great was the happiness with which his 
loving wife filled his existence, but he was not proof against 
the slights and humiliation systematically inflicted upon the 
woman he adored. So he left Genoa in disgust, and retired to 
Rome, not far from which he possessed large estates. He 
there became the father of two children, born at an interval 
of six years, Alberto and Lilia. The birth of the latter robbed 
her mother of life. The widower bestowed upon his children, 
and especially upon Lilia, all the love that he had given to 
their mother. They were both brought up in the midst of 
every comfort and luxury which a princely fortune could pro- 
cure. Lilia especially, by nature rather petulant and self- 
willed, became a spoiled child. Her every wish, her every 
caprice was gratified ; she never met with the slightest con- 
tradiction. A tear or a frown from the little despot would 
set the w'hole family in commotion. Such was the school in 


A YOUNG WIDOW. 


231 


which she had growm up, and at seventeen she-was as remark- 
able for her beauty as for her imperious and wayward temper. 

At that period the young Marquis d’Anfo saw her, and con- 
ceived, or, as many thought, affected, a violent passion for the 
wealthy heiress. It is certain, however, that after a few 
months of assiduous attention, he begged her hand. The 
marquis was a perfectly suitable match as to rank ; he was of 
an illustrious family, and related to the house of the cardinal 
secretary of state, who might very probably one day become 
pope ; but he was noted for his extravagance, and at three-and- 
twenty years of age had already squandered a considerable 
fortune. Lilia’s father was aware of this, and his first impulse 
was to refuse a proposal involving so much danger to the 
future prospects of his darling daughter ; but the marquis was 
handsome, his equipages were remarked as the most elegant in 
the town, he w'as a distinguished horseman, and Lilia declared 
that she Avould either have him for a husband, or bury her- 
self in a convent for life. In short, the fond father consented, 
and the marriage took place. Three months after the bride- 
groom broke his neck, by a fall from his horse in a great hunt 
in the Campagna, and Lilia remained a widow at seventeen 
years and some months. A year later her father, still young, 
but worn out by grief, and the victim of a scirrhous affection 
of the stomach, hereditary in his family, expired unexpectedly. 
From that time Rome became intolerable to the two orphans, 
who made up their mind to settle at Genoa, where, moreover, 
their presence was required by business connected with their 
paternal inheritance. 

These discoveries were but little encouraging for my love, 
and gave rise on my part to many serious and alarming reflec- 
tions. In spite of the buoyancy and self-confidence natural 
to youth, I felt that there was a gulf between the rich 
Marchioness d’Anfo and the son of an obscure and far from 
wealthy lawyer. And even supposing that the probable oppo- 
sition of Lilia’s brother and relations (of whom she had shoals 
on her father’s side), to a match which would be looked upon 
as far beneath her, could be overcome — a thing not very likely 
• — could I depend so fully on Lilia’s feelings toward me, as to 


232 


LORENZO BENONI. 


be sure that she might not herself one day repent the union ? 
What I had been able to make out of her character, during 
about two months of intercourse, was not calculated to reassure 
me completely in this respect. Such speculations may appear 
rather too prudent for a youth of two-and-twenty, who is deeply 
in love, but it was a marking trait in my nature, that, even 
from my boyish years, enthusiasm had never excluded reflec- 
tion. There was at the foundation of my character a stratum 
of distrust of myself, and of others also, which passing excite- 
ment might silence for a while, but could not obliterate ; a 
disposition which tended rather to make me exaggerate diffi- 
culties than to look lightly on them. 

Such was the somewhat depressed mood of my mind, when 
the revolution of July 1830, broke out in Franee. The 
commotion that ran through Europe, the thrill of hope with 
which the hearts of all the oppressed hailed the three days, 
are still present to the memory of every one. Minds were no- 
where more elated, hopes were nowhere more ardent, than in 
Italy, and in no part of Italy more ardent than in Piedmont. 
Upon us — I mean the young men who busied themselvesi in 
politics — the revolution of Paris had the effect of an intox- 
icating draught, and we daily expected to be called to arms. 
Fantasio assured us that the Carbonari were roused from their 
slumber, and that the sect were carrying on their work with the 
greatest activity ; in token of which he had been delegated to 
promote me to the second degree of the order, which he did in 
the most simple way, by communicating to me sundry new 
signs and words of recognition. This second degree, to wdiich 
I was admitted, gave me no other right than that of pre- 
sentation, of which I instantly made use to propose Alfred as 
a candidate. 

Those great political events, and the excitement consequent 
upon them, roused me from the state of depression into which 
I had been thrown by what I had learned concerning Lilia’s 
family and her station in life. The near approach of my last 
and decisive examination, which was to take place in a month, 
proved another wholesome diversion. It was indispensable 
for me to work hard to make up for lost time, and so it fared 


41 


MY LOOKS don’t IMPEOVE. 


233 




with my brother Caesar, who was exactly in the same predic- 
ament with myself. My mornings were occupied by the 
lectures at the university, a part of my afternoons by the 
never-failing walk on the bastions of Santa Chiara ; I had only 
the night for quiet study, and I often used to sit up till two or 
three o’clock in the morning. Heaven knows how often the 
image of Lilia would come between the book and me, and 
what wondrous efforts I had to make to drive it away. Every- 
thing, however, went on as well as I could wish, and at last, 
one day in August, in the great hall of the university, and in 
presence of a numerous audience, after a good deal of talking, 
and being talked to, in bad Latin, I was duly invested with the 
gown and cap, and obtained the degree of doctor of laws, in 
utroque jure. My father and my Uncle John were of course 
present at the ceremony. I do not know whether the former 
was or was not satisfied with me, but the very next day he 
installed me in a small room next to his own study, where I 
was in future to receive my clients — when I should have any. 
Uncle John was more demonstrative, and after having em- 
braced me repeatedly, he slipped into my hand a visibl® 
token of his satisfaction, in the shape of a little roll of gold 
pieces. A week later, Caesar went through his last exami- 
nation with great spirit, and the right of life and death ovei 
his future patients was bestowed upon him, with the title of 
doctor of medicine. 

For more than a month my mother, with my youngest 
brother, had been settled in the tranquil and smiling valley of 
San Secondo, the air of which had proved so beneficial to her 
health the preceding summer. So soon as his examination 
was over, Caesar joined her. Fantasio also once more occu- 
pied his white cottage. As for me, I was detained in town 
by the following disagreeable circumstance. For the last 
fortnight I had been troubled by a rash, which annoyed me 
considerably. At first it was trifling, and I paid no attention 
to it ; but the eruption, instead of giving way, had increased, 
attacking especially the head and face, and giving an appear- 
ance very similar to that produced by small-pox. This, of 
course, was far from adding to my beauty, and I felt a strong 


234 


LORENZO BENONI. 


repugnance to present myself before Lilia in sucli a condition. 
For some days previous to my examination I had therefore 
discontinued my walks on the ramparts of Santa Ohiara, imt, 
however, without first taking care to let Lilia know, for by 
this time she had authorized me to write to her in case of need. 
I had laid my absence to the account of a slight indisposition, 
without saying precisely of what kind. 

In the meanwhile, my malady getting no better, I made 
up my mind to consult a physician, who said that the thing 
was of no consequence, but prescribed sea-bathing. I was 
desired to bathe twice every day, morning and evening. It 
was in order to fulfil this prescription that I had remained 
in town. Time passed on, and Lilia grew anxious. I had 
to write in order to reassure her, and I thought that I 
could not do so more effectually, than by plainly telling her 
how matters stood with me. Her answer came without de- 
lay. She was grieved, she said, mortified, indignant, at my 
want of confidence in her. Did I indeed suppose that her 
affection for me could be influenced by such an accident? 
This was knowing her very little, it was being very unjust 
toward her. If I wished to expiate my fault and obtain her 
pardon, I must go the next morning at nine o’clock to meet 
her in the garden. 

I was weak enough to yield. Lilia was shocked at sight 
of me, and could not help showing it. I perceived it and 
was piqued. Our interview was cool and short. We both 
felt ill at ease, and when we separated there was a cloud be- 
tween us. Poor Lilia ! It was not her fault but mine. Men 
ought to take great care not to shock that sense of elegance 
and beauty which is innate in women, and which is never 
injured with impunity. My face was red and swelled, and a 
great part of my hair, my only beauty, had been cut off by 
order of the doctor. Really, I was ugly enough to have 
frightened a quadruped ; what wonder that Lilia should have 
found it out. 

A fortnight’s sea-bathing put an end to this complaint, 
all swelling and eruption disappeared, and the only lingering 
inconvenience was some red marks in their place. So I pre- 


lilla’s whims. 


235 


pared myself to go and join my mother in the country, hut 
not without informing Lilia of my movements and bidding her 
good-by. She also was about to retire in a few days to a 
country-seat she possessed near Savona. She wrote telling 
me this, and adding how much she regretted leaving town 
without seeing me. Now this was not true ; at least I con- 
ceived it not to be tnie, for if she had felt the wish, she would 
not have failed to appoint a day and hour for a meeting in 
the garden, as she had done before. Under this impression I 
wrote in a moment of pique — how childish ! — that we had 
better not see each other for the present, as I was anxious not 
to shock her a second time (I underlined the phrase), and set 
out for San Secondo. 

This was not the first cloud which had overcast our heaven, 
but it was the darkest. Lilia was self-willed, imperious, at 
times almost violent, and had wounded me more than once. 
Whenever anything went wrong with her, or she happened 
to be out of sorts, she had an irresistible inclination to vent 
her spleen on me, and if I resented the injustice, which I 
sometimes did, she would put on a most diverting air of 
injured innocence. One day, for instance, when I had gone 
to meet her in the garden, I found her in a rage. I was half 
an hour, she said, after the appointed time. Now, in fact, I 
had come even some minutes earlier, which was proved by my 
watch, and by the clock of a neighboring church. No ; it 
would not do ! the watch and the clock were wrong. She 
stamped her little foot, and protested that she would never 
come again. These words piqued me deeply. “ Signora Mar- 
chesa,” said I coldly (as a stanch liberal she hated titles, and 
could not bear to be called Marchesa), “ do just as you please;” 
and away I went. It is but fair to say, however, that she was 
always the first to come round after these little tifis, and hold- 
ing out the white flag, sue for peace. ' 

Lilia was a charming spoiled little thing, with no more 
judgment, steadiness, or experience, about her than a baby. 
Sometimes she wanted me to teach her to smoke, sometimes 
she wished me to receive her as a Carbonaro. Every hour 
brought some new whim, some fresh smiling or pouting, but 


236 


LORENZO BENONI. 


in all her moods there was truly so much grace, something so 
sweetly girlish, that it was difficult to he angry. She was not 
yet twenty, and of course very fond of dress, dancing, and 
pleasure. To my taste she had too great a liking for gorgeous 
and brilliant colors, and I was perfectly satisfied, from what 
she herself ingenuously told me of her success in company, that 
she could he completely happy, even in my absence, whenever 
she produced an effect. Her manners with me, after the first 
two or three interviews, were rather those of a sister with a 
brother, than of a mistress with her lover, so entirely was she 
at her ease and unrestrained. Indeed, I think she knew but 
little about love. With all her faults she was a sweet fasci- 
nating little creature ; warm-hearted, generous, compassionate, 
unable to see any one suffer without giving all the assistance 
in her power. In short, there was in Lilia the stuff of a far 
better woman than she was. 

My first month in the country was, upon the whole, rather 
dull. I expected every day that Lilia would take the first 
step toward me, but week after week elapsed without the 
slightest sign on her part. I felt cruelly disappointed. I 
bitterly repented my hastiness and harshness. But I had my 
pride; and I never admitted — no, not once, the idea of 
making the first advance myself. “Well, it is all over; it 
was a dream : I will think no more about it.” I did think 
about it, nevertheless. But by degrees I dwelt less upon the 
subject, and my spirits began to mend. Fantasio, Caesar, 
politics, shooting, the beautiful and grand scenery that sur- 
rounded me, proved so many salutary diversions ; after a time 
I got the better of my depression, and partially recovered my 
cheerfulness. 

Not long after this amendment, happening one day to be 
in town, which was often the case, who should be the first per- 
son I met in the street but Lilia with her maid? No sooner 
did she see me than she changed color ; perceiving which, I 
turned my eyes to the ground, meaning to appear not to see 
her. But she came resolutely toward me, said how glad she 
was to see me well, and that she wanted to talk with me. 
Would I meet her the next day at the garden? I told her 


DEMISE OF FANTASIO’S PAPER. 


237 


that I was obliged to be back that evening at San Secondo. 
Well, would I meet her within an hour at the garden ? To be 
sure I would ; and we separated. The interview took place, 
and never bad Lilia shown herself so kind, so demonstrative 
of affection. She was more earnest and thoughtful than usual, 
and there was perhaps a slight shade of embarrassment about 
her, which I attributed to her consciousness of having been in 
the wrong at our last meeting. By this time I had recovered 
my habitual good or bad looks, and my hair had grown again, 
upon which she complimented me. She was in town for a few 
days, was bored to death in the country, longed to come back 
to Genoa, and see me every day. “Would I write to her 
“ Certainly, if she wished it.” We parted better friends than 
ever, and from that day an active correspondence was carried 
on between us. I remarked with pleasure, that her letters 
were less childish than they used to be. There was even in 
some of them a tinge of despondency that pained me. She 
expressed a degree of contrition that appeared rather out of 
proportion with her little offences, and begged my indulgence. 
Evidently there was in Lilia a change for the better ; at least 
I thought so. 

I must not close this chapter without registering the demise 
of the literary periodical founded by Fantasio, which closely 
followed on the revolution of July. The paper was not sup- 
pressed by government, was not given up by its contributors, 
yet it stopped short, owing to a material impossibility of going 
on. Let us explain the riddle. The censorship, all whose 
former toleration of the press had terminated with the three 
glorious days, began systematically to delete whole articles at 
once. All those connected with papers know how difficult it is 
to fill a gap of this sort at a moment’s notice ; yet somehow or 
other, it was filled, once, twice, and .even thrice. But the day 
came in which this was no longer practicable, and the paper 
must either have appeared as a blank sheet, or be stopped 
altogether. It was stopped. And thus the poor Florentine 
periodical breathed its last. 


238 


LORENZO BENONT. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

WHY I MAKE UP MY MIND TO BREAK WITH LILLA, END HOW 1 

FAIL IN THE ATTEMPT. MY CONFIDENCE IN HER IS SHAKEN. 

In due time we returned to toAvn, and I resumed my occu- 
pations. My title of LL. D. only imparted to me the right of 
giving opinions which no one asked me for, or of appearing 
in my capacity of advocate in the petty court of a justice of 
the peace. To be admitted to plead before the superior courts, 
it was necessary that I should prove three years’ reading 
under any barrister I might choose. I therefore entered as 
pupil the office of a highly-esteemed pleader, where several of 
my university companions, and among the rest Fantasio, were 
going through this legal noviciate. The old counsellor was 
overwhelmed with business, and paid very little attention to 
his pupils. Provided he saw us in his first room with some 
great folio in our hands, at the hours when he habitually 
went in or out, he required nothing more. Caesar also had to 
walk the hospitals for two years, and when he had gone the 
rounds with the head-physician, morning and evening, his task 
was done. 

The leisure we had was given to politics. There was great 
talk at this time of gatherings of refugees at the frontier, and 
of an expedition preparing at Lyons, which was to invade and 
revolutionize the Sardinian states. These reports, which were 
not quite without foundation, held men’s minds in a state of 
excitement that greatly facilitated our task of propagandism. 
The number of adherents we had gathered round us increased 
each day. As to the Carbonari, according to Fantasio’s ac- 
counts, they were very active indeed. Travellers of the order 


POLITICS BELTONI. 


239 


were continually going backward and forward ; a number 
of chests of arms had been introduced into the country ; a 
general was expected every moment, to take the command of 
the approaching insurrection. Everything was going on full 
speed. When I should be advanced to the third degree, which 
must be before long, I should know and see all myself. So 
much the better. For all that, I got no answer with respect 
to the candidate whom I had presented. The thing was 
in deliberation; but Fantasio’s candidate, Sforza, had been 
approved of : that was a comfort. 

A fortnight had now passed since Lilia’s return from the 
country, and we had only met once. The month of November 
was remarkably wet, and the walks bn the bastions of Santa 
Chiara were therefore of rare occurrence. The nursery-gar- 
den was impracticable. We cast about to find some other 
place of meeting, but this was not an easy thing, and in the 
meantime patience was a necessity. Nevertheless, I was much 
annoyed. 

One morning I went to call on Fantasio, and found him from 
home. In spite of his absence, I went in, to wait for him. 
There was just then a ray of sunshine, so I took a chair, and 
seated myself on the balcony to enjoy it. I was scarcely 
seated when I heard the house-bell ring, and the horse-laugh 
of a certain Beltoni, in confabulation with another of our com- 
panions. I was more than usually out of humor that morning, 
and therefore very little disposed to face the running fire of 
Beltoni’s eternal chatter ; so I pushed one of the blinds to, 
and remained concealed behind it. 

Beltoni, better known among us as the Leechy a nick-name 
he owed to Fantasio’s caustic humor, was a tall, big-boned 
fellow of five and twenty, the only one of our whole set who 
was really and completely happy. A man more satisfied with 
himself, and with less reason for being so, I never knew. 
Being fat, fair, and rosy, like a boiled sucking pig, he took it 
for granted that he was a very Antinous. He wore enormous 
stiff shirt collars, incredible hats, and clothes much too tight 
for his figure, and thought himself a very paragon of taste in 
dress ; talked much, laughed at his own wit, and took as a 


240 


LORENZO BENONI. 


liigli compliment the broadest quizzing. He had a notion that 
all women were in love with him, spoke of them disparagingly, 
and was for ever boasting of affairs of gallantry. Perhaps he 
had such — he was impudent enough for it. I will not say that 
he was bad — I do not think he was; but that he was con- 
ceited, vulgar, coarse-minded, devoid of any spark of feeling 
or elevation, that I can vouch for. 

Beltoni was in high glee. “ A fine gal, isn’t she ?” roared 
he as he sat down. 

“ Uncommonly so,” was the reply. 

“ A little bit of a she-devil though,” continued Beltoni. 

“ What a look she gave you !” said the other, who was evi- 
dently urging him on for "his own amusement. 

•‘So she may, so she may!” replied Beltoni. “Many a 
waltz, gallop, and country-dance, have I made her trip on the 
greensward by moonlight 1” 

I pitied from my heart the luckless girl whose evil star had 
thrown her in Beltoni’s way. 

“ And where did you get acquainted with her, you lucky 
dog ?” continued his companion. 

Beltoni acknowledged the compliment by laughing till he 
held his sides, and then replied, 

“ At Melle, near Savona,” from which town he came. 

I pricked up my ears. 

“ Her brother has a magnificent villa there. Rich people, 
who live in fine style, but very affable and easy withaL” 

Heaven and earth ! it is she. 

“ I used to call often there, and stroll about the park with 
the little gipsy. You ought to have seen her there, my dear 
fellow — devilish hot weather, she in an easy neglige, almost 
transparent . . . .” 

I stop from disgust. 

Beltoni continued his description with the gentleness of 
touch and nicety of expression with which a butcher might 
praise the victim he is about to kill. A cold perspiration broke 
on my forehead. 

“But, in short, on what terms are you really?” urged Bel- 
toni’s interlocutor. 


JEALOUSY. 


241 


“Ah, ah! you are too inquisitive!” answered he, laughing 
outright. 

“ I see how it is,” replied the other, “ you pretend to be dis- 
creet because you have nothing to tell.” 

“ May be, may be. All that I can say is this, that if within 
a week I do not get a rendezvous from the little witch, why, 
my name is not Beltoni.” 

Fantasio's arrival put a stop to the conversation. He came 
forward to open the blinds of the balcony, and in doing so per- 
ceived me ; but I had time, by an expressive gesture, to pre- 
vent his betraying my presence. Soon after, Beltoni and his 
friend went away, and I came out of my hiding-place. 

“What is the matter?” asked Fantasio, seeing me ashy 
pale. 

“Don’t ask just now, you shall know by-and-by — ^perhaps 
to-morrow. Give me a glass of water. Now, good-by,” and 
so saying, I tottered away. 

Each syllable of Beltoni’s conversation had fallen like a 
drop of molten lead upon my heart. Each word was graven 
on my brain in letters of fire. I saw them everywhere, every- 
where I heard them, they positively haunted me. Shame, 
rage, jealousy of the worst kind gnawed at the very core of my 
heart. “ Oh ! that I had died before I ever saw her ! but I 
will have vengeance — yes, I will pay her back with interest 
all that she makes me suffer ; but how can I be revenged if 
she does not love me — if she loves this Beltoni?” I was 
frantic at the very idea. “ To give me Beltoni for a rival ! !” 
The mere thought degraded me. I wished him dead and 
buried. How could that refined fairy-like being listen to such 
a coarse fellow without disgust? Was it then true, that the 
incense of flattery, however gross, is always welcome at the 
shrine of beauty ? 

How I got through the day, I can not tell. I was in a state 
of excitement bordering on distraction. Toward evening I 
recovered some degree of calmness. I had come to the deter- 
mination to break at once with Lilia. “ But she shall know 
why ; yes, I will write her all that is in my heart.” I set my- 
self to the task, but I could not get through it. I threw my- 

11 


242 


LOEENZO BKKONI. 


self dressed upon my bed, and fell asleep. After some time I 
awoke, and felt relieved. My blood no longer boiled ; I could 
now see into the case coolly. Beltoni’s statements, or rather 
vile hints, must of course be exaggerated ; still it was evident 
that she had encouraged him to a certain degree ; that some- 
thing like flirtation had been going on between them. This 
was more than enough. Xet us break at once. I was now in 
a fitting frame of mind to write, so I sat down to my desk and 
began. 

I passed the greater part of the night in writing, and burn- 
ing what I wrote. I could not accomplish a letter. One was 
too gentle, another was too harsh. A third pleased me better, 
but was too long. To what purpose so many explanations? 
Three lines ought to sufiice. Thus : “ Chance has put me in 
my turn in possession of a secret of yours. You love another. 
I have nothing to say to that. The affections are independent 
of the will. What I might have a right to reproach you with 
is, having played a double game with me. But to what end ? 
Farewell! Be happy. — I return your letters and your love- 
tokens. All is ended between us.” 

“ But is it very sure that she does love this Beltoni ? I 
do not believe it ; probably she has only coquetted with him. 
‘You love another,’ says too much. This phrase must be 
changed. ‘ You have given another the right to think himself 
beloved.’ No, even that is too much. But why ? How do I 
know that she does not love him ? He is fair and rosy, per- 
haps a handsome fellow in her judgment. Women do not see 
with our eyes. Positively, my head is too heavy. I will put 
off writing till to-morrow.” 

In the meantime, I made a detailed inventory of everything 
I had received from her, beginning with her letters. I read 
part of them. I lighted now and then on passages that wmng 
my heart. A purse, with my initials worked in hair — her own 
hair! — a gold ring, with a heart transfixed by a dart; a little 
lock of hair, which she had cut for me ; a white handkerchief, 
that I had once taken from her, wet with her tears ; some 
faded rose-leaves — this was all that I had of hers : very little, 
but to me a treasure ! I felt it by the heart-rending pang that 


MY CONFIDANTS. 


243 


came over me in parting with them. I made a packet of the 
w hole, not without tears, and sealed it. “ But can I then give 
up everything ? have nothing left of hers, nothing ! Impossi- 
ble !” I broke open the packet, stole half the lock of hair, 
and then sealed it anew. Morning surprised me thus engaged. 

Fantasio was uneasy about me, and called early. I remem- 
bered my promise of the day before. Now that all was over, 
I could tell him the whole. I called Csesar in, and related to 
them both every detail of what had passed between Lilia and 
me, from the first mysterious letter I had received, down to 
the discovery of the preceding day. I told them how I had 
made up my mind to break at once with her, and read them 
the scraAvl of the last short note that I had penned. It seemed 
to both Fantasio and Csesar that I took the thing too tragi- 
cally. Lilia, from what I had just told them, must be quite a 
child, and some indulgence ought to be shown her. She might 
have been a little coquettish, but this proved no real liking 
for Beltoni. If an innocent intercourse, such as the freedom 
of the country might excuse, had changed its nature, by pas- 
sing through the impure lips of that fellow, it was not her fault. 
Beltoni was a pnppy and a boaster, and what he said could 
never be taken seriously. 'VYho knew whether she might not 
have been playing on his vanity ? At all events, the letter I 
had written was harsh, peremptory, and unfeeling; it w'ould 
not do. Affairs of this kind should not be conducted in wri- 
ting ; I ought to have a frank and verbal explanation with 
Lilia, and by its results be guided in my ulterior resolution. 

These arguments did not convince me, did not alter my de- 
termination to have done with Lilia ; but they soothed me. 
It was such a comfort to hear my friends take up her defence ! 
Well, then, so it should be ; I would not write. I would speak 
wdth her, and tell her myself what I had on my mind ; that 
would be the best way. Thus also — but this reason I did not 
even allow to myself — I should see her once more. 

Shortly afterward, fine weather returned, and there came a 
letter from Lilia, asking me to go and see her in the garden, 
I took with me the packet containing her letters, with the 
other things, and went. It was a beautiful November morn- 


LORENZO BENONI. 


2M 

ing, the sky was pure, the sun warm and pleasant. Lilia was 
wrapped in a costly fur-cloak, and looked radiant. Never had 
she appeared to me so lovely. What a boor I was, to be sure, 
to disturb that pure and serene surface ! 

There was a cloud upon my brow, and she perceived it. 

‘What is the matter with you?” asked she. I was much 
at a loss how to broach the subject. 

“ I have had a bad dream, which troubles me.” I hardly 
knew what I was saying. 

“ Oh, that is too bad !” returned she, laughing heartily ; “ a 
serious man, a conspirator like you, to allow himself to be 
disturbed by d dream, like a child !” 

“ The Greeks and Romans were not children, and yet they 
attached the greatest importance to dreams. Mine was so 
like reality, that I still ask myself whether it really was only 
a dream.” 

“You make me quite curious,” said Lilia, with evident in- 
terest ; “ do tell me your dream.” 

“ W'illingly. I dreamed that I stood upon a balcony, con- 
cealed from the room within by a blind ” 

“ As I was in the alcove on Shrove-Tuesday,” interrupted 
she, laughing. 

“ Just so. There were in the room tw'o young men. One 
of them was confiding his loves to the other. He had made 
an acquaintance in the country — ‘ a fine gal, a little bit of a 
she-devil, though,’ to use his own words. His description of 
the lady’s charms, if w^anting in taste, was rich in coloring. 
‘ It was hot w eather,’ said he, * and she was in very transpa- 
rent neglige ” 

And I repeated, word for word, Beltoni’s expressions. Lilia 
looked both shocked at what I said, and alarmed at the tone 
of bitterness with w'hich I said it. I w^ent on : — 

“ The young man had paid his court to the lady, as is cus- 
tomary in the country. He w as her partner in the dance on 
the greensward, her constant attendant in her strolls about the 
park, and thus had sufficient leisure to see and scan her charms 
to the best advantage. That this intense admiration had w^on 
the lady’s heart, is most likely. At least, the young man 


TIIK MKANING OF THE TALE. 


245 


thought so, for he woimd up his narrative with these woids: 
‘ If I do not obtain a rendezvous in a week, my name is not 
my name !’ ” 

“ What is the meaning of this odious tale ? Why do you 
tell it to me said Lilia, perplexed. 

“Don’t you guess?” said I, smiling bitterly. 

“Not I. You frighten me !” returned she. 

“ Do I ?” and I looked her fully in the face, and said slowly, 
“ Why, are you not the heroine of this odious tale ?” 

“ I !” screamed Lilia, blushing scarlet. 

“Yes, you! Beltoni himself told it! He is the happy 
swain !” 

Oh ! that she had burst into a fit of passion, torn her hair, 
stamped her foot, flashed scorn and anger from her eyes, cursed 
that man and me ! What a relief it would have been ! But 
no. Her features fell ; she looked scared, stunned, annihilated 
— anything but indignant. 

“ I may have been wrong,” wLispered she after a pause ; 
“ nay, I see I was. But God is my witness that I do not de- 
serve this. I meant no harm. I do not love that man.” 

“ Have you encouraged him ? yes or no !” resumed I ; “ that 
is the question.” 

“ He may have supposed so, but I did not mean it. You 
had been so cross to me, you remember. He was so funny, 
he amused me. I am but a weak, thoughtless child, and I be- 
haved as such. I have need of indulgence. Did I not write 
you how much I wanted it ?” 

“ It was your conscience that smote you ; you felt at that 
very moment that you were wronging me.” 

“ Indeed, you are too severe. Such attentions as he paid to 
me, I saw many girls receive from young men, without any 
one thinking it amiss.” 

“ What is of little consequence from others, is not so from 
Beltoni. Do you not know that that man is a profligate ? 
Whatever he touches he defiles.” 

“ Good heavens ! how could I know ? What can I do ?” 

“ It is not for me to point out your course. As to me, mine 
is clear. I must bid you farewell !” 


246 


LORENZO BEN ON I. 


“ What ! would you leave me in anger, without one word of 
forgiveness V* 

“ I am not angry. I forgive you from my heart, but we 
must part. Here are your letters.” 

As she did not move to take them, I laid the packet on a 
bench close by. “God bless you!” and I moved toward the 
door of the garden. 

A scream from the maid stopped me. I turned my head, 
and saw Lilia stretched full length upon the ground. I hast- 
ened to her. She had fainted. We raised her gently, and 
carried her into a little greenhouse near at hand, where we 
seated her on a bench. The woman went out and fetched 
some water, with which I sprinkled Lilia’s face. It was some 
time before she recovered consciousness. She then looked 
around, saw me, sprang up, and flung herself at my feet. 
Hers was a paroxysm of grief, an agony of despair, which 
defies all description. Such a passion of tears ! such sobs ! 

“ I might crush her under my feet, kill her at once, but 
not leave her thus. I could not inflict such torture ; I could 
not have the heart to do it, she was sure I could not ! I had 
said so only to try her, was it not so ? She was my child ; 
I had called her so many a time ! I must be merciful to 
her I” 

What could I do? Nothing but yield. I forgave her, raised 
her, called her my darling child. I took back the packet of 
letters. I did and said all in my power to calm and soothe 
the suffering soul. She would not let me go unless I pledged 
my word that I would meet her on the morrow at the same 
place ; and I pledged it. I succeeded so far as to restore her 
to something like reason, and went away. 

I was satisfied that I had done nothing but what a man 
ought to do under such circumstances, and yet I was not 
pleased with myself. No; Fantasio and Caesar might say 
what they would, I was not pleased with myself. 

1 saw her next morning, and could judge by her looks 
what havoc the stormy scene of the preceding day had made 
in her. I did my best to reassure her, and raise her drooping 
spirits. I affected a gayety I was far from feeling, and easily 


RECONCILIATION DISTRUST. 


2i7 


brought back smiles to her lips, and serenity to her counte- 
nance. There was such mobility of impression about Lilia, 
that she could cry bitterly and laugh heartily in the course of 
five minutes. 

Things went on between us smoothly enough for some 
time. Yet I was not happy. My confidence in her I loved 
was shaken. 


248 


I>ORENZO BENONI. 


CHAPTER XXVIL 

FANTASIO’S IMPRISONMENT, OUR HELPLESSNESS AND DESPAIR 

NARROW ESCAPE. 

Though my confidence in Lilia was shaken, I loved her 
more than ever. This is a phenomenon of very common occur- 
rence. A disputed possession, precisely because it is disputed, 
becomes more precious. There are men, for whom a little 
spice of jealousy is as necessary to love, as mustard is to 
others for digestion. As for me, I could have done without 
this ingredient perfectly well ; for, if my passion was thereby 
increased, my comfort was very sensibly diminished. With 
Lilia’s image, upon which my fancy had formerly dwelt with 
complacent and confident tranquillity, was now associated 
another importunate figure, whose intrusion turned my satis- 
faction into uneasiness. The idea of her girlish graces being 
possibly displayed with pleasure for another than myself, 
blighted their charm, and made them at certain moments al- 
most hateful to me. In a word, I was jealous; and consequent- 
ly, in the state of mental mirage which is the characteristic 
symptom of that strange disease. I was shaken out of this 
frame of mind as by a thunderbolt. 

One night, about twelve o’clock, as I was just going to bed, 
I heard a voice without which called my name several times. 
I opened the window, and asked who was there. “ It is I,” 
answered Uncle John’s voice ; “ come down, and open the door 
without making any noise; I want to speak to you.” I won- 
dered what could bring Uncle John at this hour; he who went 
to bed so regularly at ten o’clock. I descended, not withoist 
some anxiety, and opened the door. 


UNCLE John’s news. 


249 


“ What is the matter, uncle ?” 

My uncle did not answer, but took the lamp out of my hand, 
led the way to my little study, shut the door, and began 
pacing up and down the room, like a wild beast in its cage. 
It was not till then that I perceived he was in a state of great 
anger and agitation. 

“ What is the matter, uncle ?” I repeated. 

My question seemed to break the spell that held him 
dumb. 

“ What is the matter ! what is the matter !” shouted Uncle 
John ; “ you will soon know what it is, and to your cost too ! 
Did I not tell you that if you would play with the fire, you 
must burn your fingers? Did I not tell you that all you 
could do would be to get yourselves hanged ? Nothing else, 
nothing else, nothing else ! Confound the boys ! they will 
follow their own way ; they all think themselves patterns of 
wisdom. When they meet a man of sense and experience, 
who says to them, ‘ Beware !’ — faugh ! they spurn his advice, 
and treat him as a dotard. I have no patience Avith such 
fools.” 

Having uttered this apostrophe with incredible volubility 
and impetuosity, Uncle John flung his hat on the ground in 
a rage as a last and clinching argument, threw himself into a 
chair, and began to bite his nails most furiously. 

“ In the name of Heaven, uncle, do not keep me thus upon 
the rack. What has happened ?” 

“ Fantasio is arrested, many others are arrested, to say noth- 
ing of those who will soon be arrested. Conspiracy, secret 
societies, high treason, a matter for the gallows, nothing less 
• — this is what has happened ! It is said that there is a list 
of a hundred persons implicated. Yes, a list of a hundred 
names, and yours among them — I lay any wager of it. A 
plague on all boys ! They are never happy but when they 
are in a scrape. What on earth possessed me to prevent this 
one from becoming a capuchin !” 

Of all this long rigmarole, delivered Avith ever-increasing 
heat, I had only clearly understood one sentence, which rung 
in my ears like a death-knell, and froze the blood in my veins, 

11 # 


250 


LORENZO BKNONI. 


“ Fantasio is arrested !” Fantasio arrested meant secret 
information, a court-martial judging with closed doors, and 
no defending counsel — it meant death ! The various acts of 
such a dismal drama passed, like a flash, before my terrified 
imagination. 

“We must save him, uncle; we must save him!” cried I, 
distractedly. 

“Don’t talk nonsense!” returned my uncle; “let us do 
things like rational beings, and think first of saving those who 
can be saved, beginning by yourself. Let us see ; are you in 
this business, or are you not ]” 

“ For God’s sake, uncle, do not think about me. Suppose I 
am, no one knows it, I hardly know myself.” 

“ Are you sure of what you say ?” resumed my uncle, some- 
what relieved : “ remember this is a matter of life and death, 
and any reserve may be fatal.” 

“ I tell you, uncle, that it is a hundred to one that Caesar 
and I run no risk.” 

“ Caesar, Caesar too !” exclaimed Uncle John, striking his 
forehead with both hands. “ Of course ; Caesar also ! What 
a fool I was not to have thought of it ! Why, this is madness, 
positive madness. They will never be satisfied till they are 
all hanged.” 

“ Fantasio, uncle, we must think of Fantasio, of him who 
is in jeopardy. We must save him at any cost, move heaven 
and earth, manage his escape from prison !” 

“ His escape from prison !” ejaculated Uncle John with a 
shrug. “ To be sure, with a silken ladder, as in the Barbiere 
di Siviglia. Upon my word, the boy is crazy. Do you sup- 
pose that prisons are made of papier mache, or of pie-crust ? 
Have you ever looked at the tower? Walls ten feet thick, 
and iron doors — What are you dreaming of?” 

“ It is said that the strongest door may be opened with a 
golden key.” 

“ True enough ; gold does a great deal, but not everything. 
First of all, have you two thousand pounds ready ? And, 
suppose you had, do you know to whom to offer them ? , In 
the prisons of the tower there are fifty officers and jailers, 


PLANS AND MISGIVINGS. 


251 


who spy upon each other. Life is life, my dear fellow. If 
you would but come down from the clouds, and talk a little 
common sense !” 

“ But with your common sense, uncle, you throw one into 
complete despair.” 

“ I am merely reasonable, and so I say that at this moment 
there is notliing to be done but — to go to bed. Perhaps 
your friend’s case is not so bad as it might be. We will see 
by-and-by what can be done for him. Depend upon this, 
everything shall be done which it is humanly possible to do. 
I say possible, you understand. In the meantime, prudence, 
prudence. Of one misfortune do not let us make two. Good 
night !” 

I had a great mind to awaken Caesar, but I scrupled to 
disturb his rest with such bad news. “ He will know it but 
too soon, poor fellow !” I went to bed but could not close 
my eyes, and spent the night in thinking over the means of 
helping our friend. Alas ! I positively saw none. Every plan 
I could devise was only brought to the test to be renounced 
as impossible. 

An escape from prison was surrounded by difficulties insur- 
mountable, or nearly so. First, it was not easy to find the 
money. My thoughts had turned immediately to Lilia, who 
was rich and generous ; but it was very possible to be both 
and yet not to have two thousand pounds at immediate com- 
mand — especially for a woman, and one who had an elder 
brother. And, supposing the sum were to be found, to whom 
should we apply 1 If I had at this moment two thousand 
pounds in my pocket, what is the first step I ought to take % 
Must I knock at the gate of the tower and ask for the head- 
jailer, without knowing anything about him? And when we 
shall be face to face what shall I say ? — ofier him point-blank 
the money ? Even supposing him accessible to corruption, 
TV ill he not fear some trap ? with what confidence can an un- 
known youth inspire him ? Unless I succeed in finding some 
one who can tell me, with competent knowledge of the fact, 
“ Go to A or B among the officers of the tower ; I know him, 
he will do anything for money unless I can find some such 


252 


LORENZO BENONI. 


resting-point to lean upon — and where find it 1 it is certain 
that I shall fail, and get myself into a scrape to hoot. Uncle 
John was right. An escape from prison with the connivance 
of some one employed in the jail is quite impracticable. 

Suppose Ave were to force the prison, and carry off Fantasio 1 
A hundred, say a hundred and fifty young men constitute the 
whole of our force, even if the Avhole number Avould muster. 
Where find arms? The tower is well guarded, and at the 
gate of the ducal palace, a hundred paces distant, there is 
always a strong military post. Before Ave can beat doAAui the 
first door M e shall haA'e all the garrison of the tOAvn upon us. 
And, no doubt, there are seA’eral doors to be broken open 
before we reach the apartment Avhere Fantasio is confined. 
By the way, we ought to knoAv precisely AA here his cell is. We 
ought to haA^e an exact plan of the toAver. Alas ! hoAv many 
difficulties ! It is astonishing Iioav an enterprise, apparently 
most simple, changes its nature and groAvs complicated the 
moment you come to the details of execution. 

By dint of studying this lahyrintli, I found however, or at 
least I thought I had found, a cIcav to extricate us. This was 
my reasoning: — The Carbonari, said I to myself, have adepts 
everywhere, and surely they must have some among the per- 
sons employed in the toAver. Suppose there is only one ; that 
single one is bound by his oath to favor the flight of a brother. 
If necessary he might he stimulated by a bribe. The problem 
to he solved is, hoAv to get hold of this Carbonaro jailer. To 
this end there is hut one aa ay, that is, to follow up the chain 
link by link, from one individual to another, from one grade to 
another, till we reach some of the high functionaries of the order, 
— some of those who know eA^ery thing and eA^erybody in it. Once 
there, we are sure to haA^e the right man pointed out. At all 
CA^ents, there is Lilia’s brother, my mysterious initiator, who may 
he able to gUe useful directions. Perhaps Csesar has more of 
the necessary information than I have. Poor chance of success 
in such a search, hut still the only one left. The more I 
thought of it, the more satisfactory did the idea appear. 
Yes ; Ave must set to work in that direction to-morroAv, without 
a moment’s further delay. 


FANTASro’s FAMILY. 


253 


Early in the morning I awoke Caesar, and gave him the sad 
news. I communicated at the same time the plan of which I 
had bethought myself in the night, and which he warndy ap- 
proved. It was too early to call on Fantasio’s family, so we 
sat down and comjiared notes. As for me, I was acquainted 
Avith none of our people, Avith the exception of Count Alberto ; 
and all that I kneAv of him was that he Avas an adept, but 
we Avere perfect strangers to each other. Caesar Avas exactly 
in the same plight as to personal acquaintance, but he kneAV 
by name two individuals, who, as Fantasio had assured him, 
belonged to the sect : one a physician older than ourselves by 
four or fiA^e years, a stiff, haughty-looking man, Avhom I knew 
by sight, named Pedretti ; the other, an old but ardent and 
most acth'e man, named Nasi, the person who Avas in constant 
communication Avith Fantasio, and by him said to be one of 
the heads of the order. This same Nasi it AA^as who, about a 
year and a half before, had admitted Fantasio into the sect. 
His mode of introducing himself to our friend Avas remarkably 
eccentric. He called one day, Avithout any previous acquaintance 
or preparation, and entered upon the matter without further 
preface, in these Avords : “ I know that you have long desired 
to be an initiated Carbonaro, and here I am ready to satisfy 
your wish.” It Avas he also, to all appearance, Avho had been 
my brother’s initiator a feAV days later ; but of this Caesar was 
not sure, as the man Avas masked. Caesar had no doubt that 
Nasi could and would give us all the information we wanted ; 
and this AA'as indeed a consoling piece of intelligence. 

We then went to Fantasio’s house. He was an only son, 
fondly loved ; and of course Ave found his parents in deep con- 
sternation. We tried to comfort them as we best could. 
They told us, that on the preceding evening Fantasio had just 
returned home as usual about eleven o’clock, Avhen a party 
of carabineers, Avith a commissary of police at their head, had 
come and carried him off. His papers had been searched, and 
some, but of no paramount importance, taken aAvay. We 
entered our friend’s room with an inexpressible oppression of 
heart. All was as he had left it : a volume of Lord Byron 
still open upon his desk, an unfinished cigar upon the table. 


254: 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


and near it a sheet of paper, with some scattered thoughts 
suggested by the poem he had been reading. Everything was 
as yesterday, and yet what a difference ! All around had a 
look of desolation. Those who have had to part from dear 
friends, know how deeply and painfully inanimate objects asso- 
ciated with them strike home to the heart ! 

It had been agreed with Uncle John that I should call on 
him about dinner-time to hear the news. To him, then, we 
went. He knew all the details of the affair. The number of 
persons arrested was ten ; he had noted down their names, 
their calling, and their ages. There were eight young men 
from twenty to thirty (Sforza was of the number), most of 
them lawyers, and two old gentlemen, a noted barrister, and 
— Nasi ! The very man we depended upon ! — our anchor of 
hope ! what a blow ! Caesar and I looked at each other in 
silent despair. What was to be done 1 Try our chance at 
once with Dr. Pedretti. As I knew him by sight, it was agreed 
that I should go. I had no difficulty in finding his address, 
and I went immediately. 

Dr. Pedretti was one of those men who never have been 
young — he might have been five-and-twenty, or he might 
have been fifty. He wore a dirty-white cravat, a dirty frill, 
had a nose always crammed with snuff, and looked big and 
self-important. “ What procured him the honor of my visit V 
I told him at once. He started, and stammered that I was 
quite mistaken in him. I replied that I was sure of what I 
said, and that dissembling was of no use. I was a brother, 
and not a spy, and gave him the signs of recognition. The 
man was taken by surprise, and no longer attempted to deny 
the fact ; but he turned as pale as death, w^ent to the door, 
and ascertaining that there was no one there, came back, and 
whispered in my ear that segregation was for the present the 
watchword of the order, which meant immediate and absolute 
suspension of all communication between the Good Cousins ; that 
he could not take it upon himself to infringe the command 
by giving the information I requested. All prayers and en- 
treaties failed against an adamantine discretion, which was 
probably a mere veil meant to conceal his own state of isola 


COUNT ALBERTO. 


255 


lion, and so save his vanity. Dr. Pedretti has never forgiven 
me the fright I caused him. 

The only person who now remained to he tried was Count 
Alberto, our last hope, and we did not hesitate one moment. 
Caesar and Fantasio had never seen Count Alberto’s face, nor 
he theirs, although the reader may remember that they had 
been present at my initiation at his house. It was Nasi, the 
soul of the association, it would seem, who, through Count 
Alberto and Fantasio, to both of whom he was known, had 
put in momentary contact the two couples of masked dominoes 
— Count Alberto and his secretary on one hand, Caesar and 
Fantasio on the other, but with a strict prohibition to each 
couple against questioning the other, or making themselves 
mutually known. 

Caesar took upon himself the task of seeing Count Alberto. 
For still greater precaution, and in order not to run the risk 
of startling him by calling at his own house, we agreed that 
I should learn some particulars respecting his habits, so as to 
know where he might be met with out of his own home. I 
made inquiries of Lilia on the subject, and she told me of a 
certain cafe, where her brother went almost every day to read 
the papers at a certain hour. I must render justice to Lilia, 
who proved on this occasion, as I had expected, generous and 
warm-hearted. She offered me not only all the ready money 
she possessed, but a quantity of useless trinkets, as she called 
them, which might be sold at once to realize a handsome sum ; 
and, moreover, engaged to raise any sum I would name within 
a given time. 

Caesar saw Count Alberto, and met with a cordial, confiding, 
and open-hearted reception. He was full of readiness to serve 
his imprisoned associates; but he was in the same case with 
ourselves; that is to say, he was now, since the arrest of Nasi, 
perfectly isolated; his secretary, also a Carbonaro — the short 
domino attired as a woman — knew no one but him. All he 
could say was, that if certain hints thrown out by Nasi could 
he depended on, and he thought they might, two gentlemen, 
whom he named, filled important posts in the order. One of 
them was very high in the magistracy, and noted for his harsh- 


256 


LORENZO BENONI. 


ness. The other was a foreign official agent from a small Ger 
man principality. 

This information was so vague, that we hesitated; hut pru- 
dence is not the virtue of youth, and after some hesitation wo 
determined to clear up the point. Of the two persons men- 
tioned we agreed rather to try the second ; and Caesar insisted 
upon undertaking this more than delicate mission. He pre- 
sented himself at the gentleman’s house, and was admitted. 
While excusing himself for his intrusion, he repeatedly made 
the signs of recognition, but in vain. He then went straight 
to the subject. The old gentleman stopped him at the first 
word, and said that it would be his duty to call in the guard, 
and give such a visiter into custody ; and that, if he did not 
do so, it was from respect for the honorable family to which 
Caesar belonged. At the same time he motioned him to the 
door. 

This failure took from us all courage to venture on any fur- 
ther experiment of the kind. We felt that, without being able 
to serve Fantasio, wx should end by getting ourselves into 
some very serious difficulty, and so desisted. 

Did these tw'O gentlemen named by Count Alberto belong 
to the association, or did they not? That is wdiat I do not 
know, and never shall, for both are dead, and Nasi also. Sup- 
posing they did, it may be reasonably imagined that they did 
not choose to leave their secret at the mercy of mere youths, 
and I can not say that in that they were much to blame. The 
association of Carbonari, at least in Piedmont, was chiefly 
composed of Freemasons and of some Carbonari belonging to 
1821, spared by the political storms of that time. They w^ere 
all old men, or at least men of mature age and experience, and 
likely rather to sin by excess than by deficiency of prudence. 
Carbonarism composed of such elements w^ould naturally look 
more to the quality than to the quantity of adepts, and we 
may be allow'ed to suppose that their number w’as limited. 
That the Carbonari w^ere very distrustful of youth was a fact 
proved by the immense difficulty w'e had had in almost forcing 
ourselves upon them. Having once admitted us, their aim 
w^as to keep us isolated, so that, even had we wished it, w^e 


STIRRING 'ITMKS. 


257 


should have found it impossible to commit any great impru- 
dence, and thus compromise the association. In this they had 
too well succeeded — we were enclosed within an impassable 
circle — whichever way we turned we met an iron wall. Nor 
was our utter inability to help our friends the sole cause of our 
depression of spirit. No time, for a long succession of years, 
had been so full of hope and promise as the present; none 
seemed more favorable for down-trodden nationalities to raise 
their head and assert their rights. Belgium had just achieved 
her independence, heroic Poland was in arms, Bologna and 
the Legations were in open insurrection, Modena had risen ; 
the revolution was at our very door — and we were bound hand 
and foot, and could do nothing for ourselves. This it was 
which galled us to the quick. We were in despair. 

Fantasio’s imprisonment had lasted a month, and his parents 
had in vain solicited permission to visit him. It had been re- 
fused point-blank. They were wealthy and influential people, 
and made use of all their connections to obtain, in behalf of 
their son, the interest of persons in high situations, and even 
holding places about the court. Meanwhile the proceedings 
w’ith respect to the prisoners were being carried out with the 
greatest secrecy, and nothing was known to the public. The 
most alarming rumors were in circulation through the town. 
Keports were afloat of chests of arms discovered, of written 
plans of insurrection seized. Some even talked of capital con- 
demnations and secret executions. There was evidently ex- 
aggeration in all, and absurdity in some of these assertions ; 
but still they kept the public mind in a state of excitement 
which could not but tell upon us. 

Fortunately Uncle John, in his quiet but indefatigable way, 
found means to ascertain the real state of affairs, and was soon 
able to reassure us, at least to a certain extent. He was on 
intimate terms with an old magistrate, to whom he had once 
had an opportunity of rendering important pecuniary service, 
and who, contrary to custom in such cases, had retained a 
sense of gratitude. Now, chance would have it that this same 
magistrate was charged with the preparatory proceedings in 
the affair of Fantasio and his co-accused, and had it in his 


/ 


258 I.OKENZO BENONI. 

power to give Uncle John all the desired information, of course 
under condition of the strictest secrecy. 

Fantasio was incriminated for being one of the society of 
Carbonari, and for having on a certain day, and in a certain 
place, received as member of the said society a certain indi* 
vidual. This individual turned out to be an agent of the po- 
lice, and was the informer against Fantasio. Nasi was charged 
by the same police-agent with belonging to the sect, and with 
having put him in communication with Fantasio, for the well- 
understood purpose of his being received as a Carbonaro. The 
remainder of the accused were simply prosecuted as belonging 
to the sect of Carbonari. How it was that Sforza, who had 
just been admitted, should have been already tracked, I can 
not say ; but I know that there was some talk at the time of a 
certain written list of names which had been seized. However 
this may be, one favorable circumstance for Nasi and Fantasio 
was, that their accusation rested upon the testimony of a single 
individual — the police-agent. This in itself would have been 
sufficient to obtain their acquittal before an ordinary tribunal, 
according to the maxim of jurisprudence that one witness does 
not constitute legal evidence, unus nullus ; but before a court- 
martial, or even before a civil court, named ad hoc, as was often 
the case, single evidence would have been received, and their 
condemnation was a moral certainty. Their salvation or de- 
struction hung, therefore, by a thread, namely, the choice of 
the court before which they should be brought. 

Charles Felix, then upon the throne, hearing that a prose- 
cution was going on against some Carbonari, was seized with 
a childish curiosity about the matter, and desired his minister 
of grace and justice (as we have it) to lay a report of the busi- 
ness before him. Happily the king had a smattering of juris- 
prudence, of which he liked to make a shov', and a taste for 
legal forms. It was even said that in his youth he had studied 
law, and been received LL. D. On examining the documents, 
the circumstance of there being only a single witness did not 
escape his observation, and he felt scruples on the subject. To 
remove them, he named a commission of three learned and 
eminent magistrates', charged to examine the documents, and 


BANISHMENT SEPA K* ATION. 


259 


to decide whether there was ground for prosecution, and if so, 
to determine before what court the trial ought to proceed. To 
this measure Fantasio and the others owed their salvation. 
The commission, after long examination and consideration, 
pronounced that there was no ground for proceeding against 
the prisoners. The logical consequence of this decision would 
have been their immediate discharge. Not so, however. The 
government, whose fate it seemed to be never to carry through 
a completeh'' good measure, only did half-justice. Fantasio 
and Nasi received passports, with an order to leave the coun- 
try, without any defined period of time being named. Their 
co-accused were set at liberty, but placed under the superin- 
tendence of the police. The process occupied about four 
months. It was generally believed, upon Avhat grounds I can 
not say, that one of the eminent magistrates forming the above- 
named commission was a Carbonaro. 

This favorable issue to what might have proved fatal to our 
friend, threw us into actual transports of joy — transports which 
were too soon allayed by the arbitrary measure w^hich followed 
immediately afterward. Still we knew what a narrow escape 
he had made, and felt very thankful. To conform to the wish 
of Fantasio’s family, which it was our duty to respect, Csesar 
and I saw him only for a few minutes before he set out in the 
diligence. The moment of separation was heart-breaking, and 
on neither side could we refrain from tears. “ Be of good 
heart ; keep up the sacred fire, and love me still. You shall 
soon hear from me.” Such were his last words to us. The 
postillion cracked his whip, the huge machine rolled off, and 
we walked homeward with full hearts, and in a state of depres- 
sion we had never before experienced. 


260 


LOKENZ.) BKNONI. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

THE CASACCIA RUPTURE THE LETTERS RETURNED LILLA BE- 

COMES OUTRAGEOUS. 

What a difference in one’s life may the absence of one per- 
son make ! Days and weeks wore on, and still we could not 
console ourselves for the loss of Fantasio. We missed him 
every moment. His little apartment was as a haven, of which 
long habit had made for us, at certain hours, a sweet necessity, 
and where we were sure of finding welcome, sympathy, and 
consolation, in all our vexations, great or small. Deprived of 
this resting-place, we drifted like vessels without a rudder. 
The buoyancy of our friend, and his activity of mind, had ex- 
ercised, unknown to ourselves, a vivifying action upon us, cal- 
ling forth all our energies. This stimulus removed, we sank 
to half our former value. Nor were Caesar and I — the bosom 
friends of Fantasio — the only individuals who experienced 
this species of aimlessness; Alfred, the prince, Sforza — now 
restore^ to liberty — in a wmrd, the whole circle of our common 
friends, felt it no less than we did ; and in spite of Fantasio’s 
injunction to keep up the sacred fire, the work of propagand- 
ism, which had busied us till then, seemed to have come to a 
stand-still. It was as if each had said to himself, ‘‘ Of what 
use is it, now that Fantasio is no longer here ?” 

The unwilling traveller wrote regularly to his parents, who 
always gave us news of him. He was well in health and 
spirits. In every letter there was some affectionate message 
for “the two brothers,” as he called us, but no direct commu- 
nication. The latest news was that he had been travelling in 


STKADA NUOVA. 


261 


Switzerland, and was struck with admiration of that grand 
and beautiful country ; and that he had a mind soon to visit 
Paris. 

What with bad weather and Fantasio’s imprisonment, I had 
scarcely seen Lilia during the winter ; and since the return of 
the fine season, she, on her part, had been detained in attend- 
ance on the sick bed of an aged aunt, who was confined by 
serious illness. The old lady doated on her niece, and could 
not spare her for a moment. We corresponded occasionally, 
and I remarked that Lilia bore with more equanimity than 
might have been expected from her temper, the constraint 
occasioned by this circumstance. 

One fine morning in June — it was the 3d, I remember it 
well, for two days later would have been the anniversary of 
my first meeting with Lilia — I went out to walk. As it was 
Sunday, the unusual liveliness of Strada Nuova, through which 
I passed, and the uncommon number of loungers there, did not 
at first strike me. But as I proceeded, the throng thickened 
more and more, and in certain places near the square of the 
Fontane Amorose, I found the street entirely blocked up, and 
could proceed no further. At the same time, I heard a merry 
band of music coming toward the spot where I stood. I asked 
some one what was going forward. “ The Casaccia," was the 
reply ; “ the Black is coming out.” As I had never seen this 
procession of the Casaccia, of which I had heard a great deal, 
I determined to take this opportunity of satisfying my curi- 
osity, and to make one of the expecting crowd. 

The origin of the Casaccia (from casa, house) is very ancient. 
The porters in Genoa used formerly to be divided into different 
corporations, having each its own customs, privileges, and place 
of worship. One or more of these corporations had united, 
and formed what was called a brotherhood or confraternity, 
the chief object of Avhich was social prayer. In fact, early in 
the morning on Sundays and feast-days, all the members of one 
brotherhood would meet in some church or chapel appointed 
for their special use, to hear mass and a sermon. The expense 
of the worship, and the salary of the priests officiating in 
the church or chapel (oratorio, as it is called), were defrayed 


262 


LORENZO BI:N0NI. 


by a small monthly contribution from each member of the 
brotherhood. 

Tliere were in my time two principal confraternities, that 
of the “ Fucine” (forges), and that of the “ Marina” (marine), 
both of them numerous and rich, and consequently, rivals. 
These two confraternities went more commonly by the re- 
spective names of Black and White, from the image of our 
Savior, which was black in the chapel of the Fucine, and white 
in that of the Marina. The White and the Black looked upon 
each other with feelings of jealousy and rivalry, which the 
government, true to the old adage, divide et impera, far from 
discouraging, countenanced and fomented. This spirit of. 
emulation displayed itself especially on the occasion of certain 
processions held by the two establishments at particular sea- 
sons. Each exerted itself to the utmost to outshine the other. 
If the White came forth with a new standard (gonfalone), and 
wax tapers weighing a pound each, the Black were sure, on 
their next appearance, to have wax tapers of two pounds 
weight, and a banner twice as large. On one occasion, the 
White had shown themselves in silk, instead of linen robes; 
the Black, in their turn, appeared in robes of velvet. In 
short, by degrees they had come on both sides to the display 
of unbounded luxury. Gentlemen of fortune had adopted one 
or other of the establishments, giving large sums of money in 
proof of their patronage, nay, sometimes going so far as to 
ruin themselves in that amusement. These gentlemen, called 
protectors, obtained the distinguished privilege of being 
allowed to carry either the white or the black crucifix. This 
honor was sought after with extravagant eagerness, and often 
very dearly paid for. There is no disputing about tastes. 
What religion gained by these shows, I know not. Of course, 
they gave rise to much drinking, much swearing, and much 
quarrelling. 

On this j^articular occasion, expectation had been on tiptoe 
about the procession of the Black, and it is but fair to say that 
the reality exceeded all anticipation. Nothing richer or more 
magnificent can be imagined. The hoodnd robes were of 
various-colored velvet — real Genoa velvet, embroidered with 


BLA.CK AND WHITE — 'a GRACEFUL PICTURE. 263 

gold and silver. Those of the four very tall men who headed 
the procession, and bore massive silver rods, were of crimson 
velvet, so loaded with gold that the wearers bent under the 
weight. Each of these robes was estimated to be worth two 
hundred pounds. The least costly were of thirty pounds 
value. Each individual in the procession held in his hands a 
large waxen torch lighted, and it might be literally said that 
toiTents of wax flowed on all sides. There were four large 
crosses of most costly materials : one of mother-of-pearl tipped 
with massive gold, one of tortoise-shell with massive silver, 
a third of ebony inlaid with gold, and with tips of the same 
precious metal, and lastly, a fourth, not only tipped, but 
covered all over with chased silver plates. Each cross had 
its band of music. That which preceded the crucifix numbered 
sixty musicians. This cross had tips of massive gold, whence 
depended clusters of grapes, and bunches of ears of corn of the 
same metal, and of the most exquisite workmanship. The 
I.N.R.I. was composed entirely of diamonds. A child on 
horseback, representing, I believe, St. John the Baptist — to 
what purpose or end I do not know — was clad in a. golden 
tunic, wonderfully imitating a sheep-skin, and the housings 
of the horse were resplendent with gold and jewels. Gold, 
always gold — gold on everything and everywhere. The 
splendor and the richness became really sickening. The pro* 
cession closed with a large gold and silver reliquary, containing 
I know not what relics, and carried by twenty bearers, march- 
ing with measured step. 

The procession was long, and proceeded slowly, so that it 
took some hours to pass by. The windows of the houses on 
its line of march were ornamented with draperies of various 
colors, most of them red, and were crowded with spectators, 
who testified their satisfaction by scattering flowers in handfuls. 
I had had quite enough of the sight, and was just about to 
elbow my way out of the crowd, when my attention was arrested 
by a most graceful picture. 

At one of the casements of a first story, there sat a young 
person with her girlish curling head thrown backward, seem- 
ingly in deprecation of a large red hand, full of flowers, and 


LORENZO BENONI. 


26 -t 

held high in threatening show of hurling them down upon her. 
The attitude of the young girl was charming, full of unstudied 
grace. The face of the owner of the hand, who stood a little 
behind, was hidden by this youthful head, which presently 
moved a little aside, and discovered to view the man — Beh 
toni ! Almost at the same instant, the little head resumed its 
natural position, and looked down. It was Lilia ! Our eyes 
met half-way, and she retreated hastily. I felt as if a dagger 
had pierced my heart. I darted through the crowd like a 
madman, and rushed home. The little packet of Lilia’s letters 
and keepsakes lay in a drawer, still carefully tied up and 
sealed, as I had brought it back seven months before. I took 
it out, and as it was not addressed, I wrote in my very best 
hand, “To La Signora Marchesa d’Anfo, 3d June, one o’clock 
in the afternoon. To he delivered immediately T I put the 
packet into my pocket, and went full speed to my old friend 
the gardener. Fortunately, a nephew of his, a lad of fourteen, 
happened to be at home. I took the boy with me, and led the 
way to Lilia’s house. I directed the lad to go up stairs, and 
leave the little parcel with her maid, and so he did. Lilia 
was not yet come home. How fortunate ! I had been able 
to manage the whole thing within an hour. “ She will see at 
least that I did not hesitate,” thought I. I put into the boy’s 
hand a sum of money that made him stare, and a quarter of 
an hour afterward, I was in my own room again. The ex- 
citement that had kept me up till then was over, and I felt 
sick at heart, lonely — miserable beyond expression. I threw 
myself upon a sofa, hid my head among the cushions to stifle 
my sobs, and wept like a child. 

When I raised my head, Santina was standing by my side. 
I was both angry and ashamed at her intrusion. “ What busi- 
ness have you here % why do you come spying after me ?” 

Santina begged my pardon, and stammered that she was 
afraid I was unwell. 

“ In future, pray, have no such fears,” said I, “ and be less 
inquisitive. Begone !” Much mortified, she moved toward 
the door. 

In Italy servants are considered as forming a part of the 


SAN TINA ON THE WATCH. 


265 


family, and are allowed a degree of familiarity which would 
shock English habits, and which, in Santina’s case, particularly 
with respect to myself, was augmented by the circumstance 
of my having taught her to^ead and write. I felt I had been 
too harsh, and I called her hack. 

“ Now don’t look so ; Santina, I know that you are a good 
girl and mean no harm.” 

“ I can not hear to see you in this way,” she replied with a 
sob. It was now my turn to comfort her. 

Never mind, Santina, it will not kill me. It will soon he 
over.” 

“ I wish I had burnt that letter. I wish I knew the lady,*^ 
said Santina, with concentrated passion. 

What letter ! what lady ?” 

“ That letter in a lady’s hand-writing that I gave you four- 
teen months ago.” 

“ And on account of which, I suppose, you have been so 
cross to me ever since.” 

“ My heart told me that the letter would bring you unhap- 
piness.” 

“ Perhaps you have guessed right. You have a wonderful 
memory, child. Should you know that handwriting again 

“ Yes, I should know that writing among a thousand.” 

“Well, if there come any letters in the same hand, you 
must return them, and say it is by my order.” 

Santina’s features brightened. “ Depend upon me ; I shall 
take good care.” 

And she did take good care, with a zeal beyond praise. . 
There came a letter next day ; there came several the follow- 
ing days. All were pitilessly refused. The moment Santina 
heard the bell, she would rush to the door, and a week after- 
ward when we went into the country, she insisted on being 
left in town, lest in her absence my orders should be eluded ; 
and did not join us at San Secondo till a month later. 

How much was San Secondo altered ! It hardly seemed 
to be the same place I had known in the preceding years. 
The green of the country had lost its freshness, the very air 
was less clear. Fantasio was not there, and alas ! that bright 

4 - _ 


200 


LORENZO BENONL 


image, which had illumined all without and within me, was 
darkened. There, on the slope of the hill, rose that same 
white cottage with its green blinds, the mere sight of which 
in former times was a joy to my eyes. How sadly altered it 
looked now, how empty and how cheerless ! although the open 
blinds assured us of its being still inhabited. 

I had spent three months at San Secondo, three long dis- 
consolate months of dreary void, regret, and painful dwelling 
on the past. Each day I had said — and repeated to myself 
over and over again — that Lilia had never loved me; that 
the young enthusiastic conspirator might have struck her fancy, 
hut had never touched her heart ; that there was between her 
and me complete incompatibility of temper, of feeling, of judg- 
ment, and of habits. In short, I had so far succeeded, as to 
work myself into comparative peace of mind — that dull heavy 
peace of mind which springs from very hopelessness, and is 
dearly bought by the loss of long-cherished illusions — when 
a letter from Lilia, after more than two months’ silence, made 
its way to me, and upset me altogether. 

The hand-writing of this letter had been so cleverly disguised, 
that Santina herself had handed it to me. I had opened it 
without the least suspicion, and — I was weak enough to read 
it. Lilia treated me with great haughtiness. She was indig- 
nant at what she styled my want of breeding and good man- 
ners. She had left me time enough for consideration, but to 
no avail. She must, once for all, tell me what she had in her 
mind. To do so she had been obliged to have recourse to a 
stratagem, that her letter might reach my hands ; I might, 
however, be quite easy, she would not disturb me in future. 
What she had to say was this; — that she was not the dupe 
of the pretext which I had taken to break with her. She had 
long perceived that I meditated deserting her. I was quite 
free to do so, she would try to console herself ; hut she owed it 
to herself to tell me, that the manner in which I had brought 
about the rupture was mean, cowardly, odious, unworthy of a 
gentleman, etc., etc. The letter ended by hinting mysteriously 
at my new loves, in which she wished me much happiness. 

This letter reopened all my wounds, and threw me into a 


THE SHADY RETREAT. 


26T 


fever. That she should represent herself as irreproachable, 
and cast all the blame on me ! that she should stand forth as 
a victim, after all she had made me suffer ! This was more 
than I could bear. Under the first impulse I framed an an- 
swer, such as, I thank God to the present day, I did not send. 
“ Had I not better seek an interview, and overwhelm her with 
my indignation Many hours did I spend in the most pain- 
ful uncertainty as to what was best for me to do. At last I 
determined on the only course that appeared to me, and that 
really was, reasonable and dignified. I enclosed Lilia’s letter 
under cover, and sent it back to her address without one u'ord. 
Yet in that letter, under which I had smarted, there was a 
drop of comfort. Lilia was jealous ; and I confess, to my 
shame, that my heart thrilled with delight at the thought. 
Jealous of whom? Most likely of Santina. Lilia’s maid had 
brought some of her mistress’s letters, and had been spoken to 
by Santina. Now Santina, though rather strange looking, was 
a pretty girl ; and the determination and quickness with which 
she had executed my orders might easily have led both the 
maid and the mistress into a belief that she had some selfish 
motive of her own in preventing the letters from reaching 
their destination. 

I have already said that in front of the house in which we 
lived at San Secondo there was a meadow, extending to the 
edge of the torrent. A little to the right, perhaps two hun- 
dred paces from the house, stood a copse, the only trees that 
broke the uniformity of level green, and under the shade of 
which I had a habit of sitting to read or meditate. I had re- 
marked that, in the heat of the day, this little wood was the 
resort of many birds, especially of thrushes and blackbirds, 
which came to seek the cool shade. I had caused a thatched 
shed to be erected at the foot of one of the largest trees, just 
high enough for me to stand in it ; and thence, sheltered from 
the sun, and the sharp eyes of the feathered race, I shot at 
them with certain aim. The hut was in sight of the house, 
and within call, and I used always to go there some time be- 
fore the hour of meals, and remain till called. On the day 
following that on which I had sent back Lilia’s letter, I went 


268 


LORKNZO BENONI. 


as usual to this hiding-place ; and, as I was just about creeping 
into it, who should come forth hut — Lilia herself! 

“ Here you are at last,” said she. “ I have been watching 
and waiting for you these two hours.” 

I was so astonished, so petrified, that I could not find a word 
to say. 

“ You little expected,” pursued she bitterly, “ that I should 
one day make use of your lively description of this valley, and 
of what you used to call your oasis in the desert, to come and 
surprise you — not very agreeably, as it appears.” 

“ If you wished to surprise me, I confess you have succeeded 
most completely. Agreeably it can scarcely be. The step 
you have taken is so imprudent, so rash — we may be seen 
from every side.” 

Lilia’s lip curled. 

“ You are afraid I should injure my reputation ? How ex- 
tremely considerate you have all at once become I You were 
less so when we used to meet every day in the garden.” 

We were within sight of the house, and I urged the neces- 
sity of retiring to a less-exposed situation. She little cared, 
she said, who saw her or who did not. However, I prevailed 
upon her to follow me a little farther on, beyond a row of trees. 
She wore a riding-habit, and held a riding-whip in her hand. 
Her face was pale, her lips white and contracted. As she did 
not speak, I broke the silence. 

“ I regret to see you here, because I fear, nay, I am sure, 
that no good can come of this meeting. However, here I am, 
ready to listen to anything you may have to say.” 

“ You have a quiet, cool, unobtrusive way, quite a way of 
your owm of saying and doing sharp things, that makes one’s 
blood boil.” 

I saw that she was working herself into a passion, and stood 
silent. There was a pause. 

“ But yesterday,” she broke out, “ you sent me back a letter 
that I had written to you. What right have you to deal by 
me in this manner ? By what right do you treat me with such 
contempt and scorn ?” 

“ You attribute to me feelings and intentions which I have 


AN UNEXPECTED INTERVIEW. 


269 


not, and against which I protest. I wish to say nothing that 
can hurt you ; but allow me to observe, that if, in a moment of 
passion, I were to write a letter unfounded in fact and extrav- 
agant in expression, I should feel glad and thankful that such 
a letter were returned to me.” 

She colored to the eyes. 

“ Suppose the letter were such as you say, why not set the 
writer right as to unfounded facts ? why not resent the extrav- 
agant expressions ? why not act, in a word, like a man who 
has warm blood in his veins, and not like a ,” she hesi- 

tated a moment for an expression, “ and not like a coward ?” 

I smarted under the lash, but said with forced calmness, 
“ You know very well that you do not believe what you say.” 

She never stopped to listen to me, but went on vehemently : 

“ What outrages, intentional, premeditated outrages, you 
have heaped upon me ! Deny it, if you dare !” 

“ I do most positively deny it.” 

“ What, then, do you call returning my letters and my keep- 
sakes without one word of explanation ?” 

“You forget that there was a date affixed to the packet of 
your letters and keepsakes — a date which in itself ought to 
have been an all-sufficient explanation.’ 

“ Your date,” replied Lilia, biting her lips, “ was nothing but 
gratuitous insolence, and of a piece with your capricious and 
unmanly conduct toward me. What, in Heaven’s name, was 
my great crime, that I should be treated as if I were the most 
degraded of my sex ?” 

Every nerve in my frame thrilled with indignation at the 
recollection of the scene at the window, and of all I had since 
endured ; but I commanded myself, and answered calmly — 

“ Pray do not let us condescend to recriminate as to the 
past. Let us rather learn a lesson from it. We have made an 
experiment. We were but two children, we knew little of each 
other, little of ourselves. Time has brought to view differences 
of feeling and habits which are so incompatible — in short, the 
experiment has failed. Let us make up our minds to the truth. 
— You have never loved me.” 

“ Perhaps not,” interrupted Lilia bluntly ; “ I do not know. 


270 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


But tins I know,” continued she warmly, “ that since ,” 

she stopped, then suddenly changing her tone — 

“ We must be friends, or enemies to the very death ! — 
Choose !” 

“ My choice is already made,” said I, breathing more freely ; 
“ let us be friends, and part in peace.” 

“ Not so, not part ! Be once more to me what you were in 
former times.” 

“ That I can not, that I never shall be,” was my hasty 
reply. 

“ Never, did you say ?” and she shook, as with an ague, from 
head to foot. 

I did not repeat the word, but made a gesture that meant 
as much. 

“Well, then, let us he enemies, and act as such! I must 
have your life, or you mine 1” 

“ So saying, she drew out of the pocket of her riding-dress 
two small pistols, aad offered one to me. 

“ Why, this is noonday madness,” cried I, almost smiling, 
as I took the pistol and threw it to the ground. “ You may 
shoot at me, if it gratifies you, but I shall never lift my little 
finger against a woman.” 

“ A woman ! how generous 1” sneered she. “ How well that 
look of manly superiority becomes you !” 

Then breaking off in a burst of rage : — 

“Yes, a woman, a mortally-offended woman, who demands 
reparation ; do you hear? have you no spark of honor left?” 

I stood immovable. I saw she was on the point of striking 
me with her riding-whip, but I did not move. 

“ Oh, that I were a man!” and she flung the pistol she held 
to the ground. 

“ I wish you were !” muttered I. 

“ Do you ?” retorted she. “ I take note of the wish, and 
you shall remember it some day !” and she turned away. 

She had not taken ten steps when Santina’s voice was heard 
at a little distance, calling me by name. Lilia came back, and 
said, laughing hysterically — 

“ Is that your black-a-moor ? I must see her.” 


TAINFUI. EX'I'KEMITY, 


271 


“ You shall not,” said I. 

“Are you afraid that I shall kill her?” 

“You mean to give offence to a poor, innocent girl, Avho 
never did you any harm,” said I ; “ that is what I fear, and 
shall not permit.” 

Still Lilia persisted, and strove to push me aside. What 
could I do ? To prevent mischief, I had no other means hut 
to call to Santina that I was coming, and desire her to go 
back, while I took both of Lilia’s hands, and held them, till I 
saw Santina re-enter the house. I then set Lilia free, and 
said : — 

“I beg pardon for the violence I have offered. You will 
thank me one day for having prevented you from committing 
an act unworthy of you.” 

“ Pitiful wretch !” said she in a hoarse voice, “your account 
with me is heavy, but a day of reckoning will come ; take my 
word for that !” So saying, she turned away. 

For my part, I returned to the house in a state of agitation 
more easy to imagine than to describe. 


272 


LORENZO BKNONI 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

INTRODUCES THE READER TO A QUEER MARKET A FUSSY 

LITTLE MAN, AND A LETTER FROM FANTASIO. 

The scene I have just depicted left behind it a deep and 
most painful impression. That Lilia was wilful and passion- 
ate, I knew of old ; hut that she would allow herself to he car- 
ried away to a pitch of violence such as I had just witnessed, 
was what I never would have believed. I now felt that she 
was a woman capable of putting her threats into execution, 
and of bringing me into some serious scrape. Suppose she 
were to irritate her brother’s mind against me ! This supposi- 
tion, and the unpleasant consequences to which it might pos- 
sibly lead if it were ever realized, gave me pain and annoy- 
ance ; for, without personally knowing Count Alberto, I had a 
high esteem and even friendship for him. These thoughts 
kept me long and considerably uneasy ; but as time wore on 
without bringing any untoward incident, my mind reverted 
to them less frequently ; though still, at intervals, they would 
recur in their pristine intensity, and Lilia’s parting words and 
accent would ring in my ears like an echo of evil presage. 

I had resumed my usual course of life, spending the morn- 
ing hours till mid-day at home, from twelve o’clock till two 
in the chambers of the old barrister under whom I was nomi- 
nally studying law, and in the evening taking long walks 
with Caesar and Alfred. My habits were even more retired 
than ever; and, with the exception of the prince — who had 
just returned from a journey to Naples — of Sforza, and some 
other intimate friends, who came to our house almost daily, I 
saw no one. 


WE RALLY ROUND C^SAR. 


273 


By tins time we had partly recovered from the stupor of 
discouragement into which we had been thrown by the de- 
parture of.Fantasio, and had begun to look about us again. 
This was chiefly owing to Csesar, the energy and superiority 
of whose character were naturally assuring to him a complete 
ascendency over the whole youthful set, for a time dispersed 
and disheartened, but now, with new courage and spirit, 
rallying round him as their leader. If any one among us 
was able to fill the void left by Fantasio, beyond a doubt it 
was Caesar. He was as noble a fellow as ever trod the earth ; 
his was a lofty mind, and a heart of gold. Alas ! I may be 
allowed to render him justice now, though he was my brother. 
It is a privilege for which, God knows, I have paid dearly 
enough. Fantasio had always rated him far above all the 
rest of us ; and, while entertaining a sincere affection for me, 
he loved Caesar still better, and held him also in higher esti- 
mation. I knew this, but was not jealous ; on the contrary, 
my pride in Caesar found gratification in the preference shown 
for him. 

My father made a great fuss about getting me clients, and 
would often ask whether such or such a person had not come 
to consult me. “ Nobody had come.” This negative answer 
never failed to provoke him ; and by dint of searching his 
brains, he at last ferreted out a supposed cause for my lack 
of practice. “ I had no fixed hours for receiving clients. A 
man of business should certainly stick to his chambers, so as 
to be found there at any moment.” Truly, I did not see 
how sitting in my room was to exercise a magnetic attraction 
on clients ; but, for the sake of peace at home, I yielded the 
point, and took to the habit of spending the morning in my 
little study. 

One day in December, while I was there as usual, smoking 
away the time, I heard, to my no little surprise, the door of 
the small lobby that led to my sanctum pushed open.. Was 
this my first client ? Presently there came a knock at the 
inner door. I instantly threw away my cigar, assumed as 
grave a look as I could on so short a notice, and desired the 
person to come in. As nobody appeared, though I repeated 

\ 2 * 


274 


LORENZO BENONI. 


the invitation several times, I went to the door, and found 
standing there a middle-aged, sun-hurnt sailor, who handed 
me a letter. 

This epistle informed me that a life insurance company- 
had just been set up at Marseilles, and wished to establish 
a corresponding house in Genoa ; that the writer, agent for 
the aforesaid company, had been directed to apply to me, 
as a person probably both willing and able to forward the 
undertaking ; and that the undersigned would be happy to 
give me a meeting, and talk the matter over next morning 
at twelve, if it should suit my engagements to be at that hour 
at the Loggia of Banchi — in the covered exchange, on the 
side facing Via degli Orefici — Goldsmith’s street. 

Such was the substance of the letter, interspersed with vari- 
ous expressions highly complimentary to me, and not a few 
faults in spelling. It was signed “ Lazzarino.” 

“ And who is Signor Lazzarino ?” said I to the bearer. 
The man, for sole answer, carried his hands first to his ears, 
then to his mouth, shaking his head. This pantomime clearly- 
meant that he was deaf and dumb. An odd letter, thought 
I, and a queer messenger, not likely to sin in the way of in- 
discretion. 

There evidently lurked some mystery in this invitation. 
Could it come from Lilia ? It was very improbable that, if 
she had any motive for wishing to see me, she would appoint 
the most crowded part of the town as try sting-place. The 
mention of Marseilles, where I knew Fantasio to be, suggested 
rather the idea, that the purpose of this mysterious rendezvous 
might be to communicate some message from him. At all 
events, the only way of clearing up the matter was to go to 
the place appointed ; and next morning, accordingly, a little 
before twelve o’clock, I was in the Loggia of Banchi, walking 
up and down the side that faces Via degli Orefici. 

During this perambulation, I was struck with surprise at 
the great number of priests assembled in this spot, some 
standing in groups, some sitting on chairs and benches, some 
walking up and down as I myself was doing. One of these 
last, after having eyed me attentively, muttered, as he passed, 


THE SALE OF MASSES. 


275 


some words evidently addressed to me, but the meaning of 
which I could not catch. Could he be my man ? Under 
this impression, I managed to pass very near him on my first 
turn, when he again spoke tg me. This time I did not lose a 
word of what he said. “Any masses, sir? very cheap.” I 
could make nothing of it ; and he, no doubt, seeing as much 
*by the blank hesitation of my countenance, turned and walked 
away. It was not till some time afterward, that by inquiry 
and personal observation, I came to learn the meaning of 
this priest’s words, and the motive which brought so many of 
his brethren to that place. While Lazzarino keeps us waiting, 
I may as well impart to the reader my information on the 
subject. 

There is scarcely any man so destitute as to die without 
leaving something to pay for a certain number of masses for 
the benefit of his soul, or hardly any poor woman who has not, 
from time to time, some masses performed, either for the soul 
of a deceased relative, for the cure of some sick member of her 
family, or for some such object. The sale of masses, therefore, 
is very considerable in Italy. I purposely say the sale, for the 
mass is paid for, and forms an essential part of a priest’s in- 
come. The price varies according to the demand, exactly like 
the price of stocks, and, like them, masses rise or fall with the 
greater or less supply in the market. 

The spot where this singular exchange was held, where the 
price of masses was regulated, and all transactions relative to 
this odd species of merchandise took place, was precisely the 
Loggia of Banchi, on the side facing Goldsmith’s street. 

If it was your wish to have a mass said immediately, or if 
you had an investment of five hundred masses to make, you 
could find what you wanted in this place. Brokers (priests 
of course) came to meet you, and made the bargain. Suppose 
a priest, who had some hundreds of masses to say, to' be in 
want of ready money, he found there these said brokers, who 
took the masses at a discount, and paid him the difference. 
Some of the big-wigs — Rothschilds of this exchange — had 
in their pocket-books thousands and thousands of masses. 
These men monopolized the ware at a good price, and then 


276 


LORENZO BENONI. 


got rid. of it at a profit to poor priests, their clients ^especially 
to those from the country), and thus realized considerable 
gains. 

This sale of masses sometimes gave rise to very ludicrous 
scenes. I have frequented the place often enough to witness 
a gi-eat variety of such. I shall merely note the following : — 

A livery servant, sent by his master from Albaro, a large 
village at a few miles distance, was bargaining with a priest 
for a mass to be celebrated at the said place. The servant had 
been authorized to bid as much as three francs ; but it was 
Sunday, the weather was bad, and there were but few priests 
at leisure. The merchandise was looking up. 

“ I won’t stir for less than five francs,” says the priest turn- 
ing away, as if to break off the conference. 

“ Five francs ! that is unconscionable !” returned the servant. 
“ Why, one might get a Novena* for that!” 

“Well, then, get your Novena, but you shall not have a 
mass.” 

The priest crossed the street, and entered a liquor shop. 

“ Boy, a glass of brandy !” said he to the lad behind the 
counter. 

The servant, who followed close at the priest’s heels, turned 
pale. If the priest should break his fast, farewell to all hope 
of a mass. 

“ I’ll give you four francs, though I am sure I shall be 
* scolded.” 

“ Five francs I that’s my first and last word,” — raising the 
glass to his lips — “ you may take it or leave it as you please.” 

He was just on the point of swallowing the contents, when 
the servant stopped his hand, saying 

“ You drive a very hard bargain ; however, you shall have 
the five francs.” And so it was settled. 

To return to our subject. I had made half a dozen false 
physiognomic judgments, when a little fellow, young and slen- 
der, brushing hurriedly past, let fall these words in my ear 

* A religious service performed nine days running — as saleable an 
article as the mass. 


A KNOWING ONK. 


m 


“Mum! Follow me — Lazzarino 1” and lie sauntered away, 
I keeping at liis heels. He was dressed in smart sailor’s 
attire, glazed hat, blue jacket and trousers, red sash round his 
waist, and his very black hair dangling in twisted corkscrew 
curls on each side of his face. 

My conductor must have had an innate horror of the straight 
line, and an equal predilection for a crooked one, to lead the 
way, as he did, through a maze of narrow lanes and winding 
alleys, in order to come at last to Sottoripa, to reach Avhich 
we needed but to cross the piazza of Banchi. Sottoripa is a 
dark vaulted passage, or rather succession of passages, skirting 
the port, and along which almost every second door is that ot 
some low tavern or public-house, the exclusive resort of sailors 
and porters. Lazzarino stopped in front of one of these 
taverns, and having looked suspiciously around, went in, 
crossed the large room full of guests, and led the way to a little 
dirty private apartment, which was vacant. A pint of wine 
« was ordered and brought, and there we sat staring at each 
other across a small table. 

“ Have you seen my brother’s new brig, the ‘ Polycrates ’ 
asked my companion at once in a loud voice. 

Instead of answering, I looked at my interlocutor in some 
alarm, who, no doubt reading my impression in my face, by 
way of reassuring me, winked knowingly, and went on in the 
same tone. 

“ As fine a vessel as ever floated or cut the waves.” 

“ Indeed 1” said I. 

“ Ay, as true as you sit there. She was built at Varazze. 
Now,” added he, after a moment’s pause, in a tone of real 
saddened reflection, “ few people know that there is a place 
of such a name in the world ; and yet this poor little Italian 
Varazze turns out such a beautiful craft as that, which posi- 
tively outsailed an English frigate, and a good sailer too, last 
trip to Leghorn. Indeed she did.” 

The dialogue, or rather I should say the monologue, went 
on for some time in this strain, till my new friend rose, and 
with the cautious jerks and steps of a buffo, in every duet of 
every opera buffa, went to the door, listened, looked through 


278 


LORENZO BKNONL 


the key-hole, and then returned stealthily ; and suddenly 
changing his tone — 

“ A me non me la Jiccano — an old bird like me is not caught 
with chaff!” whispered he, while his features brightened, and 
his whole countenance beamed with intense self-satisfaction. 
“ Come noA\^ was not the life insurance company a capital 
hit 1 ha ! ha I” and he laughed till he held both his sides. 

These few words gave me at once an insight into the charac- 
ter before me. Lazzarino was a specimen of that numerous 
family born to make much ado about nothing, and to compli- 
cate what is simple. They are for ever fighting windmills 
instead of giants, and pride themselves on doing so. An 
individual of this genus, who meddles in conspiracy — and 
nature leads them that way — ^^is the very perfection of the kind. 

“ Now say,” resumed Lazzarino, “ hav’n’t I managed this 
matter knowingly 

I was on the point of answering that one half the fuss he 
had made about this meeting was more than enough to set 
all the spies of the town on our track ; but on second thoughts 
I kept this sentiment to myself, and nodded acquiescence, 
adding — 

"‘Now, would you be so good as to explain” — 

“All right, all right !” interrupted the little fellow; “ when 
Lazzarino undertakes a trust . . . hush I — well, well, Lazza- 

rino is known, and it is not for me to say any more upon the 
subject.” Then giving himself a great thump on his breast, he 
added, “ Here it is, all safe I” and chuckled with delight. 

Was this an allusion to the satisfactory state of his lungs, 
or to something that lay hidden under the breast of his blue 
jacket ? I clung rather to the latter hypothesis, and accord 
ingly said — 

“ If I understand you right, you have a message to deliver.” 

“A message! — you may call it a message if you please. 
Fantasio called it something else when he confided it to me. 
‘ Lazzarino,’ these were his very words, ‘ here is a bombshell, 
ay, and with the fusee burning. Now, will you carry it safe 
to my friends out there V — ‘ That I will,’ says I. ‘ Mind you, 
says he, this is a matter of life and death, and rather than let 


A bo:mb-shkll. 


279 


tliat packet fall into any but the right hands, you must blow 
yourself and it to atoms. Will you undertake it?’ — ‘ I will,’ 
says I ; and here it is safe and sound,” with a fresh thump 
on his chest. “ What do you say to that, eh ?” 

“ I say you are a jewel of a man,” answered I ; “ but where 
is the packet ?” 

“ Stop a bit,’ returned Lazzarino ; “ you must know all about 
it first,” and he went on to give me a detailed account of all 
the ingenious contrivances he had hit upon to convey this same 
shell safely — of the numerous narrow escapes he had had, and 
of the astonishing amount of presence of mind, spirit, and cool- 
ness, which had been required to overcome the various diffi- 
culties. On my again mentioning the letter, he began to ex- 
patiate on the state of parties in France, affirmed that Louis 
Philippe was a lost man, that things in general were going on 
capitally, &;c., &c. Having thus tantalized me to his heart’s 
content, Lazzarino went to the door again, looked through the 
key-hole, and at last drew forth from the folds of his blue 
jacket, a letter of such stupendous dimensions, that at sight of 
it I could not help breaking into an immoderate fit of laughter, 
seeing which Lazzarino chimed in most heartily, only stopping 
now and then just to ask if he was a man or, if he was not. 

I said he was a clever fellow, and moved to take leave. 
Lazzarino reiterated his offers. If I wanted him I had only 
to inquire for Lazzarino at Banchi. Everybody knew Lazza- 
rino. He always spoke of himself in the third person. His 
name was Lazzaro Stella, but he went commonly by the fa- 
miliar appellation of “ Lazzarino.” He told me that his 
brother Adriano, a merchant-captain, was expected soon from 
Leghorn ; a regular hriclc^ who was deep in Fantasio’s counsels, 
and knew everything about the shell. Thereupon we shook 
hands and parted. 

A letter from Fantasio, especially after so long a silence, was 
quite an event, and great was my impatience and that of 
Caesar to become acquainted with its’ contents. However, as 
by the time I got home dinner was on the table, it was a full 
hour before we could shut ourselves up in my room and open 
the monster epistle. Well might Lazzarino call it a shell with 


280 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


the fusee burning. There was in it more than enough to blow 
himself, anti some others too, sky-liigh. It contained — 

1st. A quantity of letters of all sizes, directed to different 
persons in Genoa, Turin, Leghorn, &c. ; those for Genoa to 
he delivered with our own hands, those for other towns to be 
sent by some safe opportunity. 

2d. A long and most minutely detailed plan of a secret 
society. 

3d. A letter filling four sheets of foolscap paper, addressed 
to the “two brothers,” of which I must here give as brief an 
abstract as possible. 

The order of things that had arisen out of the Revolution of 
July was, according to Fantasio’s account, satisfactory to no 
one, and France was on the eve of a new revolution. Political 
sects were hard at work there as well as in Germany, Hun- 
gary, Southern Italy, and elsewhere, to bring about an Euro- 
pean insurrection. There was not a moment, therefore, to be 
lost, if we wished to be in readiness to act in concert with the 
other countries when the favorable opportunity should arrive. 
We must get ourselves organized without the loss of a day. 
We knew by our own experience — Fantasio went on to say 
— that Carbonarism with its pedantic delays, its limited circle 
of action, its distrust of youth, would never do. On the other 
hand, the federating scheme, carried on as hitherto, though it 
would afford us useful elements for a new system of things, 
was far too loosely strung together to become as effective an 
instrument as was called for by the exigencies of the times. 
To obtain a deliberative voice in the councils of the secret 
alliance of nations, we must have a regular, complete, and 
above all, strongly centralized organization. 

According to Fantasio, the spirit of the age required that 
all political associations should rest upon some decided prin- 
ciple, and have an avowed creed. Secret societies had hitherto 
been contented with proposing to themselves as their final aim 
liberty in the abstract, without considering or determining 
what form of government would afford the best guaranties for 
its establishment, gradual development, and duration- It was 
high time to put an end to this vague, misty state of things. 


FANTASIO’S VIEWS. 


281 


high time to put forward a creed and a banner — which, of 
course, could be no other than a republican one. 

Europe was gravitating toward that centre, and the govern- 
mefVt which should succeed that of Louis Philippe would to a 
certainty be a republic. Fantasio adduced at great length, 
and with remarkable strength of argument, the reason which, 
in respect to Italy, rendered the establishment of a republic 
not only eligible but necessary. The homogeneity of princi- 
ple in the elements of the new republican association would 
secure to it an irresistible force of cohesion, and, when the day 
of trial should come, an overwhelming power of action. And 
he ventured to say that the society, of which he now sent us 
the plan and regulations, was such as was required by the 
spirit of the present day, and the general disposition of the 
public mind in Europe. 

Our patriotic feelings, and our friendship for himself, made 
Fantasio feel sure of our assistance. Influential names were 
by no means necessary ; the one thing needful was the co- 
operation of men of energetic will and steadfast faith — men 
active, indefatigable, and determined to succeed or to die in 
the attempt. Now, such he knew us to be. A provisional 
committee ought instantly to be formed in Genoa, and to enter 
without a moment’s delay on the task of the new organization. 
Caesar, Sforza, the prince, Lazzarino’s brother (of whom Fan- 
tasio spoke highly), and myself, could form a primary nucleus, 
to which might accede in course of time such persons as we 
should think fit. 

As for himself (Fantasio), he was as well placed as possible 
to give us information, useful directions, and help of every 
kind. He was in constant communication with the European 
committee in Paris, and with the most distinguished members 
of the Italian emigration, all of them old experienced conspir- 
ators. With some of these he had united to form a directing 
committee at Marseilles. He hoped to hear from us soon, and 
pointed out a safe and regular channel of correspondence from 
Genoa to Marseilles, and vice versa. 

As to Lazzarino, the bearer of the letter, Fantasio said we 
were not to mind his odd ways. Though the man could not 


282 


LORENZO BENONI. 


sneeze without looking mysterious, and making a fuss about 
it, he was a most devoted creature, entirely to be trusted, and 
likely to be useful iu many ways ; and so in fact he proved. 
Added to this, Lazzarino’s brother, Adriano, was an extremely 
influential person among men on ’change, and those connected 
with shipping, and altogether a most valuable acquisition. 

Then followed a complete plan of the new society, descend- 
ing even to the most trifling details ; as to the form of the 
administration of the oath, the manner of affiliation, the words 
and signs of recognition, etc. The principal outlines of the 
association may be summed up as follows: A central com- 
mittee at Genoa, in direct communication with the directing 
one at Marseilles ; provincial committees in all the principal 
towns, in communication with the central one ; and propa- 
gandist leaders in every minor town or village, in communi- 
cation with the provincial committees ; the adepts were of two 
sorts, simple members and propagandists, the latter only having 
the right of initiation. 

A series of very minute and very judicious rules was then 
agreed on, intended to regulate and limit the intercourse of 
members with each other. Everything in order to secure 
secrecy and to prevent indiscretion, was so nicely calculated, 
and so cleverly arranged, as to render detection next to 
impossible. All this looked very well on paper; it only 
remained to be seen whether it would answer as well in 
practice. 

When we had perused the whole our eyes met in silence. 
Caesar looked very grave. 

“ What do you say to this, Caesar ?” 

“ Why, my only fear is that we should prove unequal to the 
trust; yet,” pursued he, after a pause, “it is tempting, it 
assigns to us a noble part, to stand foremost in devotion and 
danger.” 

“ Had we not better see our friends,” said I, “ and hear 
their opinion ?” 

“ I was just thinking so,” was his reply. 


CONSULTATION. 


283 


CHAPTER XXX. 

WE ENTER INTO FANTASIo’s VIEWS, AND SET TO WORK ACCORD- 
INGLY RISE AND PROGRESS OF THE NEW ASSOCIATION. 

On the evening of that very day, at our request, Alfred, 
Sforza, and the prince, assembled at our house, and we com- 
municated to them Fantasio’s letter. On Sforza and the prince 
it had the effect which the smell of gunpowder is said to have 
on veteran soldiers. They clapped their hands in applause, 
and said it was the “very thing !” Alfred looked puzzled as 
usual, when something bold and extraordinary suddenly pre- 
sented itself before him. 

“ I admire your readiness, my dear friends,” said Csesar. 
“ I know of old that yours is the faith that levels mountains. 
Yet you will not, I hope, take it amiss, if I say two words to 
point out clearly the precise nature of the proposed undertaking. 
Here are we, five young, very young men, with but limited 
means, and we are called upon to do nothing less than to over- 
throw an established government. We have no resources to 
rely upon but those which we shall be able to create for our- 
selves. Consider then, we have everything to do. This is the 
long and the short of the matter. Will you undertake this in 
the face of such difficulties V* 

“We will?” shouted Sforza and the prince in a breath. 

“ So be it, then !” resumed Csesar, “ and so God help us ! 
That our efforts may be blessed, let us set to our task honestly 
and with straightforwardness. Let there be no humbug — no 
phantasmagoria — we have had more than enough of that— 
no seductive hints about illustrious names, kept discreetly in- 
cog. — no imaginary princes of the blood in the back- ground. 


284 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


Let anj one who joins ns know that he joins a set of men, 
whose power rests neither on high connections, nor on the sup- 
port of any one of rank or station, but whose dependence is on 
their pure devotion, and indomitable will. On this under- 
standing, I am your man !” 

“And our leader for ever!” cried at once Sforza and the 
prince, rising and embracing Caesar. Alfred, spurred by their 
example, did the same. 

“ Thank you, my friends,” said Caesar ; “ but enough of this, 
and now to business. I have a presentiment that few of us 
will live to see the final results of our labors, but the seed we 
have sown will shoot forth after us, and the bread we have cast 
upon the waters will be found again.” 

How many times in after-days have I recalled these words, 
and the melancholy smile that accompanied them I 

On the morrow, according to previous agreement, the prince 
started for Turin, Sforza for Nice, and Alfred for Sarzana, for 
all of which places Fantasio had furnished us with letters of 
introduction. Nice being situated on the borders of France, 
at no great distance from Marseilles, and smuggling upon a 
large scale being carried on along the coast between the two 
countries, Fantasio had dwelt upon the paramount importance 
of establishing there, as soon as possible, a nucleus of sure 
adherents, willing to receive and forward such political books 
or printed papers as he might have occasion to send. 

Sforza, though poor as a rat, could not be prevailed upon to 
accept any money for his travelling expenses, wLich Alfred 
and the prince repeatedly offered him. He had savings enough, 
he said (God knoAvs what they were !) to undertake the jour- 
ney, and having an economical travelling system of his own, 
a little money went a great Avay. His boasted system, poor 
felloAv, was travelling on foot. His expulsion from college 
had not only debarred him from entering the army, for which 
he had a decided taste, but had also precluded his following 
any of the liberal professions. His father, who farmed a little 
estate of his OAvn some leagues from Genoa, and contrived to 
maintain himself by it, lacked the means, in spite of the best 
will, to support his son in the capital ; and Sforza, though an 


'JHK CONSPIR^\CY. 


285 


affectionate son, was too much engrossed by politics to prevail 
upon himself to settle in a small hamlet, cut off from all intel- 
lectual and political communication. His only means of sup- 
port was giving a few cheap drawing-lessons, by which indeed 
he earned little; but his habits were so frugal, and his wants 
so few, that he contrived with that little to make a decent 
figure. 

Csesar and I remained in town, and took upon ourselves the 
delivery of those of Fantasio’s letters that were destined for 
Genoa, and to effect and superintend the transformation of the 
federating scheme into a regular secret association. But first 
of all we let Fantasio know, by the safe means of correspond- 
ence he had suggested, that his plan was accepted, and that a 
provisional central committee had been constituted, composed 
of Csesar, Sforza, the prince, and myself. Alfred, always timid 
and self-diffident, could not be prevailed upon to make part 
of it nominally, though he did so in point of fact. We re- 
served a place for Adriano, Lazzarino’s brother, who, on his 
arrival a few days afterward, accepted it ; and one for Count 
Alberto, to whom one of Fantasio’s letters was addressed. 
But Count Alberto declined, on the plea that, as a Carbonaro, 
he did not feel himself free to belong to any other sect. This 
was a reasonable scruple, and we urged the matter no further. 
But Count Alberto volunteered his services and his earnest co- 
operation, so as to become a valuable link between us and the 
Carbonari, if ever they should resume activity. 

There was no difficulty in transforming the federates into 
regu'ar associates. Nine out of ten most willingly joined the 
new sect. The adoption of a republican creed met with few 
if any objections. If there was to be a creed, it was a neces- 
sity, acknowledged even by the partisans of constitutional 
monarchy, that it should be the republican. Representative 
monarchy lacked a plausible candidate for the crown of Italy. 

National pride, of course, would not admit of a foreign mon- 
arch, and the personal antecedents of all the little Italian 
princes were so deplorably bad and anti-national, that no per- 
son in his senses would have thought of offering the crown of 
Italy to any of them. The pope, of course, was out of the 


286 


LORENZO BENONI. 


question. The Bourbons of Naples, not to speak of tlieir not 
being considered as Italians, bad, since the perjury of Ferdi- 
nand I. — who bad sworn to the constitution of 1820, and then 
destroyed it — lost all credit, and were looked upon as regular 
swindlers. The prince of Lucca, as a Bourbon, was in the 
same predicament. The duke of Tuscany was an Austrian. 
An Austrian too, in heart, if not by birth, was the duke of 
Modena, whose mild rule had won for him the surname of the 
Executioner. The ex-prince of Carignano, then king of Sar- 
dinia, under the name of Carlo Alberto, was just at that time 
most unpopular. The Piedmontese, and indeed the whole 
peninsula, had hailed his accssion to the throne, six months 
previously, with high-wrought anticipation. They seemed to 
have forgotten — to their credit be it said — that there were 
dark spots on this prince’s career since 1821, and only to re- 
member that it was in the name of Carlo Alberto, then regent, 
that, in that memorable year, constitutional liberty, however 
short-lived, had been inaugurated in Piedmont. But as time 
went on without bringing any change for the better — as the 
Jesuits continued all-powerful, and not even an amnesty was 
granted to the prince’s old associates in the constitutional 
movement — a reaction had taken place in public opinion, and 
the disappointment was proportionate to the preceding expec- 
L.tation — that is, excessive. 

This accounts for the ease with which we got the republican 
principle accepted by the rising association. But all who made 
part of it were not republicans from conviction. Many among 
tliem, on the contrary, especially among those who in course 
of time joined it, would have preferred a representative mon- 
archy to a republic; and if they accepted the latter, it was 
from a feeling of the practical impossibility of bringing any- 
thing else to bear. Others cared only for the one great point, 
the independence of Italy, and, to secure that, were ready to 
accede to any form of government. Hence it may easily be 
understood how it happened that, when in 1848 Carlo Alberto 
bestowed a constitution, and came to an open rupture with 
Austria, what remained of the association split into two frac- 
tions, of which one, composed of the two elements we have 


GENOESE AND PIEDMONTESE. 


287 


just luentioued, rallied round the standard of the constitutional 
king, the champion of national independence ; while the other, 
the republican party, abstained from taking part in, or de- 
clared against the movement, because originating with and 
headed by a king. 

A sect starting at once with a social capital of a hundred 
well-educated, gentlemanly, intelligent, active members, three 
fourths of whom had a right to initiate others — and how' re- 
fuse this right to such felloAvs ! — a sect so constituted, I say, 
could scarcely fail to carry on matters rapidly ; the more so if 
we take into account the richness of the soil on which it w’as 
called to labor. 

The elements of dissatisfaction were perhaps more abundant 
in the ancient Genoese territory than in any other Italian 
province. First, there existed there, as in every other part of 
the mother-country, the purely Italian, or anti- Austrian feeling, 
the bent and aim of which was the expulsion of the foreigner, 
and consequent national independence ; and, secondly, the 
Genoese, or purely municipal feeling, which looked simply to 
the overthrow of the intruding Piedmontese government. The 
first of these elements was predominant to a certain degree in 
the enlightened and cultivated classes, and a part of the young 
nobles ; but in the popular classes, and among the old patri- 
cians, the anti-Piedmontese spirit Avas predominant. 

The hostile feeling between the Genoese and Piedmontese 
could be traced very far back, and had its source in the end- 
less feuds Avhich had existed for ages betAveen the Piedmont- 
ese monarchy and the republic of Genoa. So Avhen the con- 
gress of Vienna, in 1815, Avith one stroke of the pen, struck 
the proud republic from the map of Europe, to give it up and 
incorporate it Avith the kingdom of Piedmont, its old and mor- 
tal foe, the national pride of classes smarted cruelly, and the 
Piedmontese were looked upon in the light of intruders and 
usurpers. Nor can it be denied, consistently Avith truth, that 
the new governors did nothing to allay this wounded feeling; 
.on the contrary, they treated Genoa like a conquered country. 

Nevertheless, as time ran on, the spirit of animosity began 
to subside ; and in spite of the mismanagement of the new gov- 


288 


LORENZO BENONI. 


ernment, the act of incorporation not only came to be accepted 
■\vitli a certain degree of resignation, but even to be looked 
upon as a step toward the so-desired unity, and an increase of 
strength, which might one day he turned against the common 
enemy. Unfortunately, this view, which was pretty general 
among the enlightened and liberal portion of society, did not 
extend beyond the circles in which it had originated, and, 
with a few exceptions, did not penetrate into the popular clas- 
ses, who still nursed their resentments, and remained stanchly 
anti-Piedmontese. 

Our task among this latter portion of society, rich in its ele- 
ments of strength and intelligence, was necessarily a task of 
conciliation fraught with many a difficulty, and requiring a 
good deal of tact ; for if, on the one hand, we could not foster 
and encourage feelings that were opposed to our own, and to 
the object we had in view, so, on the other, we could not openly 
assault prejudices deeply rooted, and to a certain extent re- 
spectable, and thus estrange from the cause well-meaning and 
devoted hearts. 

Have you ever been near to one of those stage decorations, 
the eflect of which is so striking at a distance, and seen how 
on a close view the illusion vanishes, and you have nothing 
before you but gaps, misshapen blots, and strokes seemingly 
thrown about by chance ? So, to a certain extent, it fares 
with a conspiracy. Seen from a distance, and viewed as a 
whole, nothing more striking and full of poetry than the 
mighty compendium of so many wills and forces moved by 
one spring, and working its way in the dark, through difficulty 
and clanger of every description, toward the noblest and most 
legitimate of conquests, that of liberty and independence ! 
But if, from the contemplation of this whole, you descend to 
observe the details — farewell poetry, and hail to very com- 
monplace prose ! How much egotism, how much littleness 
clog the springs of this multifarious machinery ! 

Verily, I assure you, the path of a conspirator is not strewn 
with roses, least of all of conspirators situated as we were, viz., 
known by and accessible to everybody. I know of no exist- 
ence which requires such continual self-abnegation and endu- 


BAD NFaVS FKO:*! TUKIN. 


2S9 


ance. A conspirator has to listen to all sorts of gossip, to 
soothe every variety of vanity, discuss nonsense seriously, feel 
sick and stifling under the pressure of empty talk, idle boast- 
ing, and vulgarity, and yet maintain an unmoved and compla- 
cent countenance. A conspirator ceases to belong to himself, 
and becomes the toy of any one he may meet; he must go out 
when he would rather stay at home, and stay at home when 
he would rather go out ; he has to talk when he would be 
silent, and to hold vigils when longing to be in bed. Verily, 
I say, it is a miserable life. It has, it is true, its compensa- 
tions, few but sweet : the occasional intercourse with lofty 
minds and devoted souls ; the glimpse of the silver lining of 
the dark cloud, and the conviction that all this wear and 
tear is smoothing the way, inch by inch, toward a noble and 
holy end. 

This conviction we had, and it kept us up on our weary 
way. In six months of incessant labor, we had obtained re- 
sults, at which we were ourselves astonished. Not a single 
town of any importance in the kingdom but had its committee 
at work ; not a considerable village that lacked its propagand- 
ist leader. We had succeeded in establishing regular and sure 
means of communication between the several committees in the 
interior, and we corresponded abroad, through affiliated trav- 
ellers, with Tuscany and Kome, through Leghorn and Civita 
Vecchia, and so on to Naples. The number of adepts had 
multiplied to such an extent, that w'e soon felt the neeessity 
of slackening the impulse. People of all classes joined us — 
nobles, commoners, lawyers, men employed under government, 
merchant-captains, sailors, artisans, priests, and monks. Among 
these last-named, my old friend Vadoni, now. one of our sect, 
pushed on propagandism indefatigably, as did our colleagues 
Adriano Stella and the prince — the first among the seafaring 
class, the second among the nobility. 

Things were going on thus prosperously, when a traveller 
arrived from Turin with a piece of bad news. A disagree- 
ment about some unimportant point had arisen in the com- 
mittee at Turin, in consequence of which two of its most influ- 
ential members had given in their resignation. We instantly 

13 


290 


J.Or:KNZO BKNONI. 


made up our minds to d^^] r.tcli a confidential person io Turin, 
with instructions to use his 1 est endeavors to restore a good 
understanding among our friends there. This trust was com- 
mitted to me ; and I undertook it the more readily, as I hoped 
to make the journey serve for the attainment of another objeci 
which we had much at heart. 

To obviate the want of arms, of which we had none, and 
the introduction of which offered such diflSculties as amounted 
to positive impossibility, we had thought of making some pros- 
elytes in the corps of artillery which guarded the arsenal, so 
as to gain access to it when occasion might require, and pos- 
sess ourselves of the arms which we needed. The artillery 
was reputed, and was, in fact, a well-informed and liberal 
corps, and we might reasonably reckon upon finding in its 
ranks a number of sympathizing adherents. But hitherto all 
our endeavors to establish any communications in that quarter 
had proved fruitless, partly owing to the extreme caution ne- 
cessary in so delicate an attempt, and partly to the circum- 
stance of the artillery being almost all Piedmontese, far from 
their homes, and consequently offering none of those opportu- 
nities for acquaintanceship which spring from the intercourse 
of families inhabiting the same town. At Turin, perhaps, by 
the help of our friends there, I might succeed, through mutual 
acquaintances, in getting a letter of introduction to some oflScer 
of the corps stationed at Genoa, or at least some useful infor- 
mation on the subject. 

My father offered no objection to my going to spend a few 
days, as I told him, at the house of an old fellow-student. So 
I went and took a place in the coach, which was to start next 
morning at seven. 


THE OPERA LILLA AGAIN. 


291 


CHAPTER XXXL 

I ANTICIPATE AN EVENING OF QUIET ENJOYMENT, AND MEET WITH 
NOTHING BUT VEXATION, AND WHAT COMES OP IT. 

Returning that same evening from the coach-office, to which 
my portmanteau had been carried, I happened to pass before 
the Carlo Felice theatre. My eye was by chance attracted 
to the play-bill, and I saw Bellini’s Sonnambula advertised, 
in which a new prima donna was to make her first appearance. 
It was very long since I had entered a theatre ; the Sonnam- 
bula was a great favorite of mine, two circumstances which, 
uniting to a third — that I had nothing better to do, decided 
me to go in. 

The house was crowded, and it was with some difficulty 1 
got a place, the last and not a very comfortable one, at the 
furthest end of a j-ow of orchestra seats. The delicious taran- 
tella of the first scene was being performed amid universal 
silence, when the door of a box on my left, just above my 
head, opened noisily. All eyes turned that way, and so did 
mine. Presently, in came a tall, elderly lady, with white 
feathers on her head, followed by Count Alberto, leading in — 
Lilia ! My heart gave a bound. I had never seen her since 
the stormy meeting at San Secondo. She took her seat with 
her back to the stage, almost opposite to me, only a little 
sidewise: There she was in all the brilliancy of youth 

and beauty, set off by a splendid and very tasteful dress, 
so near me that I could hear her rich Italian, and that, had 
I stood up and stretched out my hand, I could have touched 
her. 

I would have given a good deal to have been somewhere 


^92 


LORENZO BENONI. 


else, but there I was, and there I must remain, and look as 
unconcerned as I could. Never did spectator appear more 
engrossed and interested by what "was passing on the stage, 
yet no spectator ever heard or saw less than I did of what 
was going on. My whole attention was concentrated, and, 
as it were, riveted on the box above me, and from my seat 
being a little further back, I was admirably placed for follow- 
ing, with the corner of my eye, every the slightest motion of 
its occupants, without appearing to do so. For a time slie was 
quiet. I suppose she had not discovered me : but her de- 
meanor soon altered. She became restless, talked much, 
laughed, and fanned herself incessantly. 

After the cavatina of the prima donna, there came into the 
box garde du corps, as well as I could guess — but I could 
not be sure, who was received with demonstrations of high 
glee. Count Alberto went out, and the new-comer sat by 
Lilia’s side. A flirtation was evidently going on between her 
and this ofiicer. Presently she whispered something in his 
ear. The garde du corps, or whoever he might be, took out 
his opera-glass, leant over the front of the box, and looked 
down - at me ; I was sure of this. The first act being over, 
there was a change of places between Lilia and the elderly 
lady in white feathers, and the officer stood up, and used his 
opera-glass pretty freely. 

I took advantage of that moment to cast a glance into the 
box. He perceived it, and looked hard at me. I returned 
his look with usury. This sort of by-play recurred two or 
three times in the course of the evening. Whenever I looked 
at the box, that man was staring at me. I now distinctly saw 
that he was an officer of the garde du corps. I was certain I 
had seen his ugly face before, but I could not give a name to 
it. To whom did those mustaches — so very fair that they 
appeared white, and which he was continually twisting and 
caressing with such insolent foppery — belong? 

Lilia resumed her former seat ; the officer went in and out 
of the box, apparently quite at home. Nothing remarkable 
occurred during the remainder of the evening. Toward the 
end of the opera. Count Alberto reappeared, and the garde 


RECOGNITION ANASTASIUS. 


293 


du corps took his leave, not without sending me a parting 
glance. At last the curtain fell, and there was an end of it. 
I was as wearj and worn out with the long and painfully 
anxious restraint I had endured, as if I had been rolling the 
stone of Sisiphus all day. As I came out, I vowed internally 
that I would not he caught at the theatre again in a hurry, 
and, as a consolation lighted a cigar. I had stopped for 
this purpose, when I felt a tap on the shoulder. Thinking 
it was somebody who wanted to light his cigar from mine, I 
turned round, and found myself face to face with the officer. 

“ What do you want said I. 

I want to know,” returned he, “ what you meant by look- 
ing at me so intently 

“ Since you saw I was looking at you, I suppose you were 
looking at me,” was my reply. 

“ Suppose I was, what of that ?” insisted he, twisting his 
mustache. 

“ A liberty you chose to take with me, sir, I should imagine 
I might take with you — that’s all.” 

“ That is not all,” returned he, “if I gave offence ” 

“ Not in the least,” interrupted I, “ a cat may look at a 
king,” and I moved on. 

“ The matter can not end in this way,” continued my 
interlocutor, following me ; “ if you choose not to be offended, 
well and good ; but I am, and — you know what that means.” 

I thought of the fable of the wolf and the lamb ; only my 
man looked more like a cat than a wolf. 

“ You mean that you wish to pick a quarrel with me ; that 
is what you mean,” said I, warmly. 

“ Take it as you please,” retorted he ; “ but I must have 
that satisfaction which men of honor give each other. We are 
not at college noW.” 

The word “ college” was a revelation to me. Why, it was 
Anastasius, no other than Anastasius. covered with gold lace, 
and looking fierce ! How was it that I had not at once recog- 
nised him 1 

All my anger vanished at the discovery. Really, the idea 
of fighting my ex-tyrant had something ludicrous in it. 


294 


LORENZO BENONI. 


“ It is you then,” said T, with unfeigned surprise ; “ how 
extremely hot you are grown,” 

“No nonsense !” interrupted Anastasius ; “ please to name 
your time.” 

“ Faith, I have no time left ; I am off to-morrow at seven 
on pressing business.” 

“ Am I to understand by this that you refuse me satisfac- 
tion V’ 

“ Understand what you please,” said I ; “ the fact is, that 
I set off to-morrow morning for Turin, and I can not be here 
and there at the same time.” 

“ D me if I don’t horsewhip you in the street some 

day !” 

“ D me if I don’t kill you like a dog if you dare !” 

With this gracious leave-taking we separated, and I went 
home to bed. 

That the provocation I had just received was at Lilia’s in- 
stigation — the realization of her threat — that Anastasius was 
hut an unconscious tool in the vindictive lady’s hand, was too 
evident to admit of a doubt. Anastasius was not naturally a 
lion ; he knew too well that I was a match for him, to have 
sought to provoke a quarrel with me on such an idle pretext, 
unless worked up to do so by some foreign influence. Would 
he persist ? That remained to he seen. At all events, I was 
not sorry to have been able to take advantage of the fact of 
my departure, to give him a little time to cool. 

I had never reflected deeply on the subject of duelling. All 
I can say is, that I had no objection to the practice. I con- 
sidered it as an unpleasant extremity, not to be had recourse 
to without strong and serious motives, just like the drawing 
of a tooth ; still, iti some cases justifiable, and even necessary. 
What made me wish to avoid a hostile meeting with Anasta- 
sius, was the non-existence of any sufficient cause for it. I 
could not even work myself up to be angry with that fool, and 
could as little reconcile myself to the chance of killing a fellow- 
creature, or being killed by him in cool blood. 

Anastasius had never forgiven me for the part I had taken 
in his downfall and disgrace at college. Since then we had 


TIIF GARDE DU CORPS. 


295 


never met in the street or in a public place (in cjmpany we 
never met) without exchanging looks but little friendly. La- 
ter, some three or four years after leaving college, I had heard 
it publicly rumored that he had lost a considerable sum at the 
gaming-table, which not being able to pay, he had gone abroad 
and scandal whispered that he had followed the fortunes of an 
opera-dancer. Be this as it may, I had heard nothing more 
of him since then, either of good or evil report, till this very 
evening, full five years after his disappearance, when, quite 
unexpectedly, I met him at the opera, transformed mio d, garde 
du corps. The reader may see that his boyish ill-will toward 
me had had time enough to subside. 

The garde du corps was composed of tall, young, handsome 
fellows, of good family (how that ape Anastasius had been 
admitted among them, I can not guess), who had the privilege 
of keeping guard about the royal person, and in the royal 
apartments. As a corps, they did not enjoy the very best 
moral reputation, and there were fathers and husbands who 
had the bad taste not to allow their wives and daughters to 
frequent the society to which these privileged officers were 
admitted. But, by way of compensation, they were said to 
be the pets of usurers and money-lenders. That they were 
quarrelsome, fond of fighting, and not a little impertinent to- 
ward the peaceful burghers, was an opinion generally current, 
and unfortunately founded on fact. 

My stay in Turin was short. A fortnight sufficed to accom- 
plish in the most satisfactory manner the double object of my 
journey thither. I had succeeded in settling all differences 
between the members of the committee, and I brought back 
with me a letter of introduction to a young artillery officer, 
then quartered at Genoa, who would prove indeed a valuable 
acquisition, if only one half of the praise I had heard of him 
was deserved. I returned, therefore, in high spirits, which, 
however, were soon damped. 

Caesar took me almost immediately aside, and asked me, 
with a certain solemnity, to tell him what had passed between 
Anastasius and myself. I told him. Caesar then informed me 
how Anastasius went about saying on all hands, that he had 


296 


LC'EICNZO BKNONI. 


Challenged me, and I had refused ; in short, that I had shown 
the white feather. In one way or another, it was quite neces- 
sary to put a stop to the report, and to the braggart’s boastings 
Sforza and the prince would give me more minute details ; they 
were to come and see me the very evening of my arrival to talk 
the matter over. 

In fact they did come, and the prince related all the par- 
ticulars of a conversation about me which had taken place at 
Count Alberto’s, in his presence, and the account of which 
made my blood boil. Anastasius had related what passed 
between us a fortnight before — embellishing the theme with 
jokes, which occasioned much laughter at my expense, espe- 
cially on the part of Count Alberto’s sister — and had ended 
by saying that, to infuse a little spirit into me, he was deter- 
mined to horsewhip me in public. The prince of course took 
up my cause with much warmth, and if Count Alberto had not 
interfered, observing, that it was necessary to await my return, 
things would have gone further between Anastasius and the 
prince. At all events, he was fully determined, he said, upon 
pursuing the affair on his own account, if I had any motives, 
which he was not aware of, for not taking it up myself. 

While the prince was speaking, I had already made up my 
mind as to what was to be done. I had instantly felt that all 
thoughts of conciliation must be relinquished, and that if I did 
not quickly bow to public opinion on such a matter, I should 
at once lose the estimation and influence I possessed among 
my friends. “Would Sforza and the prince be my seconds'?” 
— “Of course they would.” — “Well, then, they must be so 
good as to go instantly to Anastasius, and tell him from me, 
that I had returned, and was quite at his service. As to the 
conditions of the meeting — the place, the hour, and all par- 
ticulars — I put my^self entirely in their hands, and gave them 
earte blanched 

Anastasius was not to be found till next morning, and the 
day was far advanced before all preliminaries were settled. 
Sforza and the prince brought me word that the meeting was 
arranged for the following morning at five o’clock. Lest any 
of us should oversleep ourselves they proposed to spend thp 


A SOLILOQUY. 


207 


night in my .‘oom ; a proposal to which I readily assented, 
only regretting the scantiness of the accommodation I could 
ofter, The prince went to fetch a case of pistols, they being 
the weapons which had been agreed upon. On his return 
about ten o’clock, we had a little supper, a little talk, and a 
cigar. At twelve o’clock, Caesar had retired to his room ; my 
two seconds were snoring most comfortably, the prince on a 
sofa, and Sforza in an arm-chair; and I was in bed soliloqui- 
zing. 

“ How strange that this Anastasius, who had cost me many 
a sleepless night when a boy, should start up now after the 
lapse of ten years, and again interfere with my rest! — that a 
being morally inferior to me, as he was, could have any sort of 
influence over my destiny ! 

“ Again, how odd that any man’s honor should be at the 
mercy of the first passer-by ; that any chance individual could 
impeach it, leaving no alternative but to redeem it by fight- 
ing I That a scoundrel, a bankrupt, a maniac — such things 
have been — who might take it into his head to do so, could 
tear you from your affections, your pursuits, even from the 
guidance of your own moral sense, and force you to kill or to 
be killed ! 

“ Suppose I had spoken to Anastasius thus : ‘ My honor, 
thank God 1 is not dependent upon what a blackguard like 
you may say or think about it, consequently I do not see why 
I should fight in defence of that which is not in jeopardy. If 
you are tired of life, it is not for me to help you out of it, go 
and hang yourself!’ Now, would there not have been some 
sense in this, and some courage also ? So much, indeed, that 
I dared not do it. Nay, if I had said so, and acted accord- 
ingly, what a unanimous storm of hisses would my sense and 
courage have raised ! Those very young men, who were at 
that moment snoring beside me, and who truly loved me, 
would have looked upon me as a madman, or as a degraded 
being. Surely man’s brain is at times a curiously-reasoning 
apparatus !” 

I kept thus soliloquizing till at last I fell asleep. I was 
dreaming that I stooS face to face with my adversary, ready to 

13 * 


298 


LORENZO BKNONI. 


fire, and that yet, in spite of all my efforts, I could not get my 
hand to pull the trigger, when the prince awoke me. I found 
that my right arm, upon which the weight of my body had been 
resting, was asleep. In a few minutes we were dressed, and 
sallied forth. Caesar came out with us, but left us at the 
corner of the street, to go in search of a young surgeon, one of 
our friends, with whom he had made an appointment, and who 
was to remain at a little distance from the ground, to give 
assistance if required. 

It was a calm, serene, lovely morning. When we came 
upon the bridge of Carignano, the first rays of the sun just 
tinged the summits of the Apennines, which spread their 
gracefully indented line in bright relief against the eastern 
sky. Some fishing boats were gliding along the sea below, 
which was calm and shining as a mirror. A few trees on the 
left of the church, in front of which we halted, swarmed with 
merry birds, hopping to and fro, and chirping joyously. 

Presently we saw three persons cross the bridge, and come 
toward us. It was Anastasius and his seconds, two of his 
brother officers. Shortly afterward we could hear the rattle 
of their spurs against the sounding flagstones. Anastasius had 
a braggadocio air about him which we heartily enjoyed. He 
was majestically wrapped in a cloak, though there was no need 
for it, his foraging cap was cocked on one side, and his mus- 
taches had a knowing twist. He and his companions had long 
cigars in their mouths. 

A little to the left of the church opened a narrow lane, soli- 
tary at all times, but especially at so early an hour. We 
went a little way into it, and then stopped. The ground was 
soon measured, his place assigned to each of the combatants, 
and we only awaited the signal. I could not help thinking 
of the duel of a less dangerous kind I had fought with the 
prince — backed by Anastasius — just ten years before; and 
how odd it was that the actors in that childish drama should 
have their parts, though differently distributed, in this new and 
more serious one. 

The signal was given, and the two pistols were discharged. 
At the same instant I felt a blow on my side. “ D the 


A DUEL — A FLESH-WOUND. 


299 


rascal, lie lias hit him !” cried the prince, passing his arm round 
my body to support me. In fact, I bled copiously, and felt 
faint. In a few seconds all the company were assembled 
round me, including the surgeon, and Caesar, w^ho looked so 
pale that my first thought was to address some words of 
comfort to him. They laid me gently on the ground, while 
the medical man examined the wound. “It was nothing,” 
he said, “a mere flesh-wound, but somebody must run for 
a sedan-chair, as walking was out of the question for me.” 
Sforza went to fetch the chair, a usual conveyance at Genoa, 
and in the meantime the surgeon applied bandages dipped in 
water to stop the bleeding, while the prince, as directed, 
wetted my temples and my lips with eau de Cologne. I ob- 
served that the prince then took Anastasius and his companions 
aside, and I supposed that he urged them to retire, which 
they did soon afterward. I saw that Anastasius was dread- 
fully pale. The sedan-chair having been brought, I was 
carried home in it, and, to avoid attracting attention, accom- 
panied by Caesar only. Sforza, the prince, and the surgeon, 
had preceded us, and waited at the street door to carry me up 
stairs and put me to bed. Being scarcely six o’clock, nobody 
in the house was up, and we were able to steal in unaw'ares, 
owing to a precaution of Caesar’s, who had taken a pass-key 
with him. 

The surgeon then proceeded to extract the ball. The ope- 
ration was short and skilfully performed, but so cruelly painful 
that I fainted. He reiterated his assurance that no vital organ 
had been injured, but the flesh, he said, was shockingly 
lacerated. The ball had lodged above the hip, just under the 
false ribs. Had I stood more sidewise, as is customary in 
duels with pistols, the wound would most likely have proved 
fatal. So that I owed my life to my inexperience in such 
matters. The wound having been dressed I was left alone, 
according to the directions of the surgeon ; and Caesar went 
to break the matter as gently as possible to my mother, who 
was made to believe at first that I had had a fall, and met 
with an injury, but so slight as to give no cause for uneasiness. 

The first three days passed favorably ; but on the fourth I 


LORENZO BENONI. 


3')0 

was restless and feverish, and the wound gave me great pain. 
Something went wrong with it, suppuration had commenced, 
and a second operation became necessary, in order to enlarge 
the orifice of the wound. I suffered cruelly again, but was 
much relieved when it was over. There followed other compli- 
cations, and several ups and downs. How I grumbled and 
fretted, and how tenderly, good-humoredly, and patiently, my 
mo her. Uncle John, Caesar, Alfred, and Santina nursed and 
petted me, it is scarcely possible to say. To make along story 
short, at the end of three-and-twenty interminable days, I was 
only allowed to leave my bed for an hour or so. What with 
loss of blood, the fever, pain, and low diet — I scarcely ate 
anything, and had no appetite — I was extremely weak, and 
reduced to a skeleton. Country air was recommended, and, 
so soon as it could be done with safety, I was put into a sedan- 
chair, and despatched to San Secondo, where my mother had 
preceded me to prepare all things for my reception, and where 
I was to remain till I was perfectly recovered. 

Before dismissing this matter, I must acquaint the reader 
with some circumstances connected with it. First, that on the 
very afternoon of the day in which I was wounded, there came 
two unknown ladies, closely veiled, to inquire after me, the 
taller of whom evinced symptoms of the greatest agitation. 
She asked most particularly whether there were any danger, 
and seemed greatly comforted on being answered in the nega- 
tive. The reader may give to whom he pleases the credit of 
this solicitous attention. 

Secondly ; that owing to the length of my illness, Csesar 
went instead of me to present the letter of introduction I had 
brought with me from Turin, to the artillery officer to whom 
it was addressed. He was enchanted with this young man 
and the reception he met with from him, and a real friendship 
soon sprung up between them. 

Thirdly : that though my duel had been a matter of publi- 
city, and the laws against duelling were very severe, I was 
neither prosecuted nor troubled in any way for the affair. The 
government, I suppose, thought me sufficiently punished by the 
wound I had received. Probably it was the same reason that 


AT SAN SKCONEO CONVALESCENCE. 


301 


made my father spare me any remonstrance on the subject 
Anastasius, who had been on leave, was recalled to Turin, and 
there the affair ended. 

The time of my convalescence at San Secondo was perhaps 
the happiest in my life. I never enjoyed existence itself so 
much. How sweet to be awakened by the song of birds, to 
hear the rustling of the leaves against my window, to sit for 
hours in the sun, and gaze upon the peaceful landscape ! 
What a new and deep interest there was in each blade of grass 
— in each drop of dew — in every flower — in the most tiny 
insect ! With what relish I ate my coffee and toast, and asked 
for more, until it was positively refused ! What a peculiar 
charm there was in feeling once more like a child, and being 
kept in order as such ! How pleasant to have my mother 
come and offer me her arm for a walk — a very short one to be 
sure — only to the large chestnut-tree, and no farther ! Then 
a second walk a little before sunset. Then supper and a 
siesta on the sofa; and how sweet on awaking to see my moth- 
er working quietly with her knitting-needles, and to listen to 
Caesar, to Alfred, or to Uncle John, who came often, relating 
the news from town ! And then to bed, to awake in the morn- 
ing refreshed, and enjoy anew the sun, the flowers, the green 
fields, the walks, and last, but not least, my coffee and my 
toast. 

Ah ! what inexhaustible sources of enjoyment has God laid 
before man, if he would only recognise them, love him, and bo 
happy ! 


302 


LORENZO BKNONI. 


CHAPTER XXXIL 

MUCH TO HOPE, MUCH TO FEAR SUDDEN ALARM DECEITFUL 

CALM CATASTROPHE. 

I COME now to the most painful part of my task. I feel like 
a belated traveller, who as he passes before a cross erected on 
the road-side in memory of some frightful catastrophe, turns 
his eyes away, and hastens by. So I, in sight of the rock 
against which struck and perished all the hopes and joys of 
my life, feel a shudder in my heart, and am fain to hurry on. 

Months and months had worn away, during which our sub- 
terranean work had proceeded with giant strides. How, indeed, 
could it be otherwise with such coadjutors (Alfred included) as 
I possessed ? A bolder, more steadfast, devoted, indefatigable 
set of fine young fellows than these five were, it would he diffi- 
cult to imagine. Truth to say, they were admirably seconded 
by many an intelligent enterprising agent, who had been 
formed under the guidance, and had caught in full the passion 
of the leaders. The most delicate commissions, the most dan- 
gerous undertakings were eagerly sought after and contended 
for. In a word, and to render justice to every one, I must say 
that devotion and self-sacrifice were the order of the day in 
all ranks. Surely the hour appointed by Providence for the 
deliverance of Italy was not yet at hand, since such a com- 
bination of perseverance, self-denial, intelligence, and activity, 
in its cause were destined to fail in the attempt ! 

It must also be allowed that the directing committee at Mar- 
seilles gave us good assistance. Thanks to their agency, the 
crews of our merchant-vessels which traded to Marseilles re- 
turned well indoctrinated and enthusiastic ; and in almost all 


VITTOEIO. 


303 


the steamboats that plied along the coast of the Mediterranean 
we had confidential agents, charged to cany to the different 
ports along their line, not only letters, but bales of printed 
political papers, which were thus introduced to be afterward 
distributed inland. 

These papers, consisting chiefly of elementary political 
tracts, written with simplicity, and adapted to the intelligence 
of the popular classes, were safely and regularly circulated 
throughout the state by means of our travellers, or through 
coach and carriers’ offices, in most of which we had adherents; 
and there was no lack of associates ready and willing to read 
and explain these little books to those who were not them- 
selves able to read or understand them. This kind of oral 
propagandism was our friend Lazzarino’s forte. 

But it was specially in a line hitherto unexplored — I mean 
in the army — that the progress of the association was most 
marked. Vittorio, the young artillery officer to whom Caesar 
during my illness had presented the letter of introduction, had 
proved an inestimably precious acquisition. He was a young 
man of two and twenty, strikingly handsome. No man ever 
realized in my eyes, as he did, the type of a hero, both in 
body and in mind. 

He was taller by a head than the tallest of us, and erect as 
a tower, and though a youthful down barely shaded his lip, 
his broad chest and shoulders bespoke the full development of 
manhood ; yet so finely and harmoniously was he proportioned, 
that he did not strike you as being much above the ordinary 
size. The lines of his spacious forehead, and of his whole 
countenance were of that pure cast that we so much admire in 
ancient Grecian statues ; and his every motion and gesture 
bore that stamp of nobility and easy elegance with which 
Nature endows her most favored children. When looking at 
him in his simple but handsome uniform, leaning on his long 
sword, I could not help thinking of Achilles. 

The inv'ard was in keeping witli the outward man. Vittorio 
had an ardent spirit, enthusiastically devoted to all that is 
good and noble, a mild and affectionate disposition, and un- 
common capacity and activity. He was a fervent Christian, 


LOliENZO BENONI. 


30:t 

and as sucli his ideal of perfection was to realize and establish 
on earth those principles of equality and fraternity proclaimed 
in the New Testament. 

Such a man, it will be readily conceived, could not do things 
r.y halves. He first of all secured the cooperation of two of 
his comrades and friends — his as he jocularly called them 
— and then went to work in right earnest. The success he 
met with exceeded his most sanguine expectations, and in a 
short time he was at the head of a respectable number of 
adepts. We were thus secure of access to the arsenal, and 
of finding there not only the arms which we wanted, but a 
body of men ready to join and march with us. From the 
artillery, to which it had been at first confined, the work 
of propagandism soon spread to the other military corps of 
the town. 

There could be no lack of elements of dissatisfaction in an 
army aristocratically constituted as ours was (though by the 
law of conscription service was obligatory on all classes), and 
in many corps of which merit was precluded from all advance- 
ment, if unaccompanied by pedigree or title. Now this was 
the case with nine tenths of the numerous and well-instructed 
class of non-commissioned officers. Let us add, with honest 
pride, the Piedmontese uniform covered many a brave heart, 
that beat high and fast at the words “ Italy” and “ National 
Independence.” 

Such Avas the state of our affairs in the beginning of the 
month of February, 1833 — just fourteen months from the first 
establishment of the new association — a state full of hope, but 
also full of danger. 

Those who talk of secret societies so managed as to render 
detection impossible, talk nonsense. Undiscoverable secret 
societies have no existence but in the fancy of some over- 
credulous people. They are like those armies that exist only 
on paper, and run no chance of ever being beaten. An asso- 
ciation comprising a considerable number of members, and 
which bestirs itself, is a mine ever within an ace of bloAving up. 
In its ranks will be found boasters, zealots, and impmdent 
spirits, who are in themselves a perpetual danger; and thee 


DANGEES. 


305 


such is human nature, that even among those associates who 
may he best disposed to keep within the limits of prudence, 
impunity in the long run will generate a sort of false security, 
which leads to ruin. Conspirators may be likened to those 
who work with inflammable materials. At first they surround 
themselves with every possible precaution ; but soon, and by 
insensible gradations, a trifle to-day, another to-morrow, and 
so on, is neglected or overlooked, till they become familiarized 
with danger; and, seeing that the inflammable materials 
have not yet exploded, they end by feeling as if they never 
would. 

Beside these sources of danger common to all secret asso- 
ciations, and constantly threatening their existence, ours had 
some causes of peril peculiar to itself, which increased its 
chances of detection; such as — to mention only the most 
prominent — the spreading of the sect among the military, in 
whose ranks a system of espionage was organized on a great 
scale, and the regular and constant dissemination of printed 
political papers. The usefulness of this sort of propaganda 
was incontestably great, but its dangers were, to say the 
least, in an equal ratio with its usefulness. The simultaneous 
appearance, at all points of the kingdom, of publications 
exciting to discontent, clearly indicated the existence of a 
permanent conspiracy, and was a continual challenge to the 
government. 

Vittorio was foremost in raising a warning voice as to the 
danger of this state of things, as well as to the positive neces- 
sity of prompt action. To such a degree had he pushed the 
work in the corps to which he belonged, that, according to 
him, discovery was inevitable if we still delayed. “ If we do 
not apply the match,” he would say, “ others will blow us up 
with our own mine.” We felt no less than Vittorio the preca- 
riousness of our situation, but we felt at the same time the great 
responsibility attaching to a premature movement, which might 
remain isolated, and so be the ruin of everything. We were 
in a state of the utmost perplexity. 

For an Italian insuiTcction to have any chance of success, it 
was indispensable -that measures should be so combined as t<? 


306 


LORENZO BENONI. 


divide the force of Austria. In pursuance of this object, the 
plan of the directing committee was, that the rising should be 
simultaneous in the two Sicilies and Piedmont. Unfortunately 
Naples was not yet ready, and required a little more time. In 
Piedmont itself, at least in several of the important points in 
the kingdom, the work was not so far advanced as in the 
Genoese territory, properly so called. 

All that we could do under these circumstances, and this we 
did, was to lay before our friends at Marseilles a faithful 
account of the statft of affairs with us, and of the perils attend- 
ing further delay. At the same time we sent Alfred and Sforza 
into Piedmont, with positive instnictions to communicate per- 
sonally with the provincial committees, and with the propa- 
gandist leaders of the most important secondary towns, to lay 
before them the two following questions ; “ Are you ready V* 
“If not. when do you expect. to he so?” and to bring back 
categorical answers. 

Although the two travellers, in order to save time, divided 
the business between them, their tour occupied the greater part 
of the month of February ; and the result, I am sorry to say, 
fell short of our expectation. Positive answers to our two 
queries were in great minority. Most of the committees and 
leaders, when brought to the point, had in an indefinite way 
asked for time. 

Situated as w^e were, it was impossible for us to remain in 
this state of uncertainty. We requested, therefore, and easily 
obtained from the directing committee, a circular convoking a 
general assembly of delegates of the association. This meet- 
ing was to be held at Locarno, a Swiss town on the Lago 
Maggiore, on the tenth day of the approaching March ; but 
some difficulties of detail put it off till the last week of the 
month. Caesar on this occasion was to represent the committee 
of Genoa. 

The delegates assembled in numbers at the place and time 
appointed. Not a single representative of the large towns 
was missing, and some cities had even sent several. Of the 
minor towns, about a fourth had failed. There were also some 
delegates from Lombardy, and some Lombard and Piedmont- 


DOUBTS AND DELAYS. 


307 


ese refugees. The assembly chose for its president one of the 
Piedmontese refugees of 1821, a very old and influential man, 
and held two sittings, in which three questions were dis- 
cussed : — 

1st. The proposal of immediate action, which was thrown 
out by a great majority. 

2d. The proposal of an indefinite adjournment, which was 
negatived by an inconsiderable majority. 

And 3dly, and lastly, the proposal of an adjournment of two 
months from that time, which was carried by a majority of 
four or five votes. The movement was then fixed on, nem. con.., 
for the first days of the following June. 

Caesar returned, and gave us an account of his mission. 
When he named the month of June, Vittorio, who was pres- 
ent, started and said: “We shall never go on to that time; 
we shall die of a plethora before it arrives. As to me, come 
what may, they shall not take me alive ; on that I am deter- 
mined.” It was not long before events seemed to confirm 
Vittorio’s sad forebodings. A few days afterward, he came 
to us in great agitation. “ Did I not tell you so ?” said he ; 
“ two of my men are arrested. We must act now, or we are 
lost !” 

We were stunned by this intelligence. To be wrecked in 
sight of port was cruel indeed. On inquiring further into the 
particulars of the case, however, we found, to our indescribable 
relief, that it was not so bad as Vittorio’s alarm portended. 
The fact was simply this : two sergeants, one of whom be- 
longed to our association, being probably excited by drink, 
had quarrelled and fought, and had been sent to prison. Vit- 
torio took occasion from this to press upon us the expediency 
of immediate action. “ If you still delay,” said he, “ you will 
be taken one by one. A conspiracy, once tampered with, is 
lost. Machiavelli himself says so.” 

Now, the case, even as stated by Vittorio, did not seem to 
justify our resorting to so extreme a remedy as that which he 
proposed. Too many interests, we observed, and of too im- 
portant a nature, were involved, to hazard them on a random 
cast without inevitable necessity. Now, did this necessity 


308 


LORENZO BENONI. 


exist ? It was far from proved tliat politics had anything to 
do with tlie arrest of the two sergeants. At all events, it was 
not rational to come to a precipitate decision, before 'having 
ascertained the extent of the danger that threatened oiir asso- 
ciation. We would make inquiries in some quarter which 
might be relied on, and, according to the result, determine or 
not on any ulterior measures. 

Among the many letters of introduction sent us by Fantasio 
through Lazzarino, there was one from Nasi to a friend of his, 
an old Freemason and Oarbonaro — a sure man, as Nasi styled 
him. This gentleman, of about sixty years of age, held an 
important office in the police department. He had, when first 
applied to by me, flatly refused to make part of our associa- 
tion, but volunteered his services just as if he were one of us ; 
on the condition, however, that I alone of all the sect should 
know this, or have any communication with him. To this I 
openly objected, that Caesar already knew all about Nasi’s let- 
ter, and of my visit to him, and that I could not keep back 
from my brother the result of my present application. The 
old man was so well pleased with my frankness, that he de- 
clared himself satisfied that Caesar also should know of his 
participation in our affairs ; but no one else. From that time, 
Caesar and I had maintained regular intercourse with our new 
friend, and received from him many a useful hint and direc- 
tion. 

To him, then, we immediately repaired, and told him the 
long and short of the matter, with the fears to which it gave 
rise. Personally acquainted as he was with all the police 
officials, high and low — on intimate terms with the director 
of police himself — nobody, we said, was better situated than 
he to extricate us from our present perplexity ; nobody could 
better ascertain the real state of things. It was easy for him 
to observe whether there was any unusual movement in the 
police department ; whether those employed in it betrayed 
any symptom of alarm, disquiet, or preoccupation ; or whether 
there was any show of affected security among them. We 
charged him to take note of every, the most trifling circum- 
stance; to study countenances, to interpret the very silence ; 


falsp: secijrity. 


300 


even to put liimself into tlie frame of mind of one who was 
distrusted, and whom, perhaps, the other police officials might 
have an interest in lulling into confidence, or imposing upon. 
In short, we urged the matter with all the warmth and ear- 
nestness which the gravity of our situation suggested. The 
good old gentleman as warmly and earnestly expressed his 
readiness to carry through a strict and most minute investi- 
gation of the subject, and to report the result as soon as pos- 
sible. 

Nor was this the only step we took. In the afternoon of 
this same day, a few hours after receiving Vittorio’s alarming 
communication, and even before our meeting with Nasi’s friend, 
which took place in the evening, the prince was despatched 
post-haste to Turin, to apprize our friends there of the new 
face affairs had assumed, and to secure, if need were, the co- 
operation of the capital without delay. We volunteered to 
take the initiative, but on condition that Turin should follow 
our example. The salvation of the association depended upon 
this. 

Three long days passed. By appointment, on the morning 
of the fourth, we met our friend in the police. The account 
he gave us was most reassuring. Everything was going on 
just as usual in the police department. Not a single official 
evinced the slightest sign of uneasiness or excitement. The 
affair of the two sergeants was scarcely spoken of. It was 
looked upon merely as a pothouse quarrel. Once more we 
breathed freely. 

The next day the prince returned with the intelligence that 
our friends in Turin positively refused to move at present. 
They did not lack the will, but the power to do so. The regi- 
ment on which they most relied had just been replaced by 
another. Nobody, they said, could foresee the moral effect on 
the capital of a successful insurrection in Genoa. Should any 
lucky chance offer, they would grasp at it; but, while things 
remained as they were, they could by no means engage to join 
a premature movement. 

How we rejoiced, on hearing this, that we had done nothing 
precipitately ! 


310 


LOKKNZO BENONI. 


Tilings went on quietly for some weeks, and we had gradu- 
ally subsided into a stale of comparative tranquillity, when 
one night, toward twelve o’clock, we heard a violent ringing 
at the door. Who could it be at so late an hour? Not proba- 
bly a bearer of good news ; but that our personal safety could 
be in danger, not even the shadow of a suspicion crossed our 
minds. Nobody was up in the house but Csesar and I, so we 
went and opened the door. In came a body of carabineers, 
headed by a commissary of police, who exhibited a warrant 
to secure the person of Osesar Benoni, and search his papers. 
What a thunderbolt ! 

The household was soon assembled, and the examination of 
the papers began ; very long and minute it was, and conducted 
in a spirit of annoyance and hostility quite remarkable ; but, 
perhaps, only what might be expected, considering that the 
man who directed the business owed a debt of gi'atitude to the 
family, from whom he had formerly received many benefits, 
nay, had been literally rescued from starvation. Some of the 
papers were taken away. A last farewell, a squeeze of the 
hand, and Caesar was marched ojff! 

That my brother’s capture was not an isolated fact, that it 
formed part of a whole set of measures of the same description, 
my heart told me but too truly. “ If only Vittorio is safe, all 
may yet be well.” This thought haunted me, and I kept mut- 
tering to myself, “ If only Vittorio is safe !” I comforted my 
mother as well as I could, and by break of day went out, first 
to Alfred — he, thank God, was safe in bed. A few words of 
explanation, and we burned away to Sforza. Poor Sforza ! 
he had already been seized. The prince was safe. Adriano 
Stella we knew to be at Leghorn. 

We then took our way to the arsenal, where Vittorio and 
his friends had their quarters. Some of the artillery, headed 
by a sergeant, were posting a cannon at the gate of the arsenal. 
The sentry refused us entrance. We pleaded that we came 
to see an officer, but the man had orders, and stuck to them. 
We were just going to retire, when the sergeant, whom I knew, 
came up to me, and whispered hurriedly, “ Make off, make off, 
for God’s sake! many of our men have been aiTested!” — he 


LOST PAST REDEMPTION. 


311 


named some, among whom were Vittorio’s two intimate .asso- 
ciates, “ and we are all confined to quarters.” 

“ And Vittorio faltered I. 

“ Vittorio has not been seen since yesterday morning, nobody 
knows what is become of him.” 

My hair stood on end. I received as vivid an impression 
of Vittorio having been killed while attempting resistance, 
as if I had seen it with my own eyes. — Vittorio vanished ! 
our tower of strength gone! We were lost, indeed, past re- 
demption. 

The arrests, chiefly among the military, that had been 
simultaneously effected during the night, were not many in 
number, but the choice of individuals on whom they had fallen, 
had struck the association to the heart. Deprived of Vittorio, 
the soul of the military conspiracy ; of his two coadjutors, and 
of some others of our best artillerymen ; with no communication 
possible with the rest of our friends in the corps, who were 
strictly watched, and confined to their barracks, we were cut 
off from the arsenal ; and what could be attempted without 
arms ? What chance had we against a soldiery inflamed to a 
pitch of frenzy by reports and tales of blood and murder, as 
absurd as they were atrocious ? such as a plan for Genoese 
vespers, of barracks to be fired, and a general massacre of the 
Piedmontese in them, of bands of galley-slaves to be let loose 
to do their will on the city ; these, and such like statements, 
which the local authorities had the impudence shortly after to 
confirm in a public proclamation, were widely circulated by 
police agents and spies, and found credence. All the guards 
at the different posts were at the same time doubled, cannon 
planted on all the important points, troops marshalled in every 
direction, the forts of Castelletto and San Giorgio prepared to 
batter down the town at a moment’s warning. Our time for 
action was past beyond recall. 

What circumstance, or rather, what chain of circumstances, 
had led to the deplorable consequences we have just related ? 
We will state the facts in a few words. Politics had had no 
share whatever in the imprisonment of the two sergeants. The 
government, as we said, was on the watch, but had not the 


312 


LOliENZO BENONI. 


least idea that one of the men in their grasp belonged to that 
very association they were searching after. The one of the 
two who had wounded the other pretty seriously, Avas a step 
lower in rank, a circumstance which aggravated his situation 
veiy considerably. Being made aAvare of this in the course 
of his examinations, he determined to take advantage of a 
confidential communication which his comrade, in an open- 
hearted moment had made to him, to establish a claim, if not 
to impunity, at least to leniency. He deposed therefore, that 
his companion had formally given him significant hints, con- 
cerning a secret society, to which he — the wounded companion 
— belonged, and to which he had offered to get the deponent 
admitted. I leaA’^e the reader to imagine all that was done in 
consequence of this deposition with the implicated sergeant, to 
get him to make some disclosures. He was a stout-hearted 
man, and held out braA^ely at first, against both promises and 
threats. An infamous artifice, as old as despotism itself, but 
one which seldom fails in its effect on uncultivated minds, was 
then had recourse to. Forged depositions were read to the 
man, supposed to be from his most intimate friends, in which 
they accused him without pity or reserve, and then it was said 
to him, “ See now, do men who have so little consideration 
for you deserve that you should sacrifice yourself for them?” 
The poor fellow swallowed the bait, and made a complete con- 
fession, giving the names of all the persons he knew, and even 
of some whom he only suspected of belonging to the associa- 
tion. Among these last w^as my brother, w'hom he had seen 
more than once in Vittorio’s rooms, and whose name he must 
have picked up by chance. 

Imagine a sportsman going out to start a fox, and finding 
himself suddenly face to face Avith a bear. The government 
on this occasion Avas precisely in such a predicament. They 
had found more than they had looked for. The army itself, 
that palladium of the ruling poAvers, and bulwark of the state, 
was undermined to an alarming extent ! The men at the head 
of affairs felt the serious importance of the crisis, and acted 
accordingly. A plan Avas conceh^ed and carried into execu- 
tion with such secresy, that even our friend in the police had 

# 


MOVEMICN'IS OF GOVKKNMENT. 


313 


not the slightest scent of it. Care was taken not to alarm 
the conspirators, or to put them on their guard by any partial 
measures ; on the contrary, it was so contrived that it should 
be rumored, both in the corps to which the two sergeants 
belonged, and through the town, that they would soon be set 
at liberty. A strict watch was in the meanwhile set upon the 
parties informed against, and strict note taken of the persons 
with whom they had intercourse. To this list were added the 
names of several citizens known for their hostility to the govern- 
ment, and then at a given time all were seized at one stroke. 

But this was not all. It Avas of paramount importance to 
set the soldiers against the citizens, so as to secure the co- 
operation of the former. This task was easy enough. The 
old grudge between the Genoese and Piedmontese was smoul- 
dering, but not extinguished : it was thought advisable to use 
every means to rekindle this animosity. By what infernal 
arts this object was attained, the reader is aware. 

The association, although stunned, held together courage- 
ously for a time. But when it came to be known that arrests 
had taken place in every part of the kingdom ; Avhen impris- 
onments, far from slackening, became more frequent every 
day ; when rumors were rife on every side of important reve- 
lations having been obtained from some of the prisoners, (ru- 
mors in part well-founded, in part purposely exaggerated), 
distrust crept in among its members, then discouragement, 
and at last, terror. Some of our friends concealed themselves, 
some took to flight. Many came to us and asked for means 
to place themselves in safety. How could we provide for the 
safety of every one 1 We aided, however, in as far as we 
could, the escape of the most deeply compromised. We urged 
upon the rest the necessity of avoiding to draw down by a rash 
step, the vengeance of the government upon the relations and 
friends they left behind. We had many losses to deplore in 
our ranks, it was true ; those whom we might term our officers 
had been cruelly decimated ; but the bulk of our army was 
safe, and we must reserve it for better days. We were as 
much implicated, to say the least, as any of them, and yet we 
remained at our post. Let them do the same. 

14 


314 


LORENZO BKNfJNT. 


Alas ! we had done to the best of our powers to guzde the 
vessel into a safe port; but it was otherwise ordained, the 
vessel was sinking fast. What more could we do than sink 
along with it? This we conceived to be our duty, and we 
stuck to it. Oh ! what days of intense agony were those ! I 
can not think of them without shuddering, even now. How 
often did I envy the fate of Caesar ! How often at night, when 
I laid me down, weary and despairing, did I hope, earnestly 
hope, that the carabineers would come for me, and end my 
misery ! 

I have said above, that the rumors of revelations made by 
some of the prisoners were well-founded. Alas ! it was but 
too true ; some of our friends had not been proof against the 
tortures inflicted upon them. Honor to those who were 
enabled to resist ! but let us not be too severe upon those 
who yielded. Let us rather reserve our indignation for that 
immoral government, whose agents did not hesitate to act 
the part of inquisitors and torturers toward their fellow- 
creatures. 

I shall borrow some details illustrative of this subject from 
a work already cited.* 

The unhappy prisoners were systematically weakened by 
insufficient and unhealthy food. They were startled from their 
sleep at night by appalling and lugubrious sounds. Voices 
called out under their windows, “ One of your companions has 
been shot to-day, and to-morrow it will be your turn.” When 
their physical strength had thus been reduced, and their ima- 
gination wrought upon, they were either suddenly brought up 
for examination, or a daughter, a sister, or a mother in tears, 
was admitted. 

Sometimes two friends were placed in contiguous cells, and 
permitted to communicate with one another. Several days 
would elapse, during which certain ill-boding hints would be 
dropped to the one whom it was Avished to impress, concerning 
the impending fate of his friend and fellow-prisoner. Shortly 
afterward the door of the neighboring cell would be noisily 

* Storia del Piemonte, di A. Brofferio. Parte terza. Capo terzo. 


MIGLTO AND VOCIIIERI. 


315 


opened, a sound of steps would be heard, followed by a death- 
like silence, and presently a discharge of musketry in the 
court of the prison ! By such means was it that avowals or 
revelations, often false, were extorted. 

Francesco Miglio, a sergeant of the pioneers in the regiment 
of the guards, had eluded by his firmness and presence of 
mind all the insidious inquisitorial attempts to which he had 
been subjected. He was then shut up with a pretended 
fellow-prisoner, who confided to him with tears his participa- 
tion in the sect, and the terror he was in. Miglio was struck 
with pity, and a certain friendship sprang up between him and 
the new-comer. A few days afterward this new friend assured 
Miglio, that he had a means of correspondence with some of 
his own relations. Miglio allowed himself to be induced to 
intrust him with a note for one of his friends. There being 
no ink, he opened a vein and wrote a few lines in his blood. 
This scrap of paper was produced against him, and decided 
his fate. Poor Miglio was shot ! 

One prisoner condemned at Alexandria, and who survived a 
long confinement in the fort of Fenestrelle, left in his memoirs 
the following passage : “ First of all, my books wore taken 
from me, viz., a bible, a collection of prayers, and the history 
of the celebrated capuchins of Piedmont. They then put a 
chain round my ankle, and I was led into a cell still darker, 
damper, and more squalid than the one I had hitherto occu- 
pied, with a double-barred window, and a door with a double 
lock. Opposite to this was the cell of the unfortunate 
Vochieri, another political prisoner. As his door was left 
open, I could see through a chink in mine what went on there. 
Vochieri was seated upon a wooden stool, with a heavy chain 
round his ankle, and two guards, one on each side, with 
drawn swords a third, with his firelock, was stationed before 
the door. The profound silence kept was painful. The 
soldiers seemed in greater consternation than the prisoner 
himself. From time to time an old capuchin came to visit 
him. Thus did this unfortunate man pass a whole week. His 
dying agonies were indeed long and frightful. At last he was 
led to execution. 


316 


lore:nzo benoni. 


General Galateri, the governor of Alexandria, persisted up 
to the last moment, in efforts to obtain revelations from him, 
holding out the lure of a possible pardon. “ Deliver me from 
your odious presence,’’ answered Vochieri; “ this is the only 
favor I request.” The enraged governor gave him a violent 
kick in his belly. Vochieri, bound as he was, spit in his face. 
Through a refinement of cruelty almost incredible, he was 
made to pass on his way to execution under the windows of 
his own home, that his wife, his sister, and his two young 
sons, might witness the heartrending sight. Not soldiers, but 
guardaciurme, the guards of the galley-slaves, were chosen to 
shoot him, and the governor, in full uniform, thought fit to be 
present at the execution, seated on a cannon. 

But I perceive I am anticipating events. Let us turn our 
eyes from these horrors, and pray to God that the times in 
which they could be committed may never more return. 


FRESH CALAMITIES. 


317 


CHAPTER XXXIIL 

NARROW ESCAPE 1 AM PREVAILED UPON TO LOOK TO MY SAFETY. 

One evening in the beginning of June I was returning home 
— it could not have been ten o’clock, and yet the streets were 
nearly empty, the shops all closed, and the dismal loneliness 
unbroken, save by the frequent challenge of the sentinel, and 
the measured tread of carabineers patrolling in pairs. 

I went on with heavy step, and a still heavier heart. Each 
of the days of the preceding month had brought with it a new 
load of evil. Fresh imprisonments had taken place in Genoa, 
Turin, Alexandria, Chambery, Nice, Mondovi, and Coni. The 
commission of inquiry appointed by the king had determined 
that the prisoners should be tried by court-martial. 

The Prince d’Urbino had had a very narrow escape. Going 
home a few evenings previously, he had found his house full 
of carabineers, sent to arrest him. With great presence of 
mind he re-closed the door, thus shutting them in, and made 
with all speed for the port ; finding himself, however, hotly 
pursued, he leaped into the sea, and swam out to an English 
vessel lying at anchor. Another of our friends when about to 
be seized swallowed poison, and left only a corpse to be carried 
away. 

Lost in the sad thoughts suggested by these gloomy events, 
I took the turning that led into the street of San Luca, one 
of the narrowest and busiest of the town during the day, 
but solitary enough at night, intending to pass by Banchi. 
During the last few minutes I had heard a step behind me, 
but paid no attention to it until the pertinacity of my follower, 


318 


LORENZO BENONI. 


in always keeping at tke same pace with myself, whether I 
went fast or slow, began to arouse my suspicion. Anxious 
to ascertain if there really was some one dogging me, I turned 
suddenly hack; not quickly enough, however, to overtake or 
even catch a glimpse of my pursuer, who in the meantime 
seemed to have vanished. I resumed my walk, now quite 
on the qui vive, and on reaching the piazza of San Giorgio, I 
saw a group of people standing there, whom I made out to he 
four carabineers, with two persons in plain clothes. 

I no sooner saw these men, than the conviction flashed on 
me that they were looking out for me; in short, I felt that my 
hour had come. Not that I expected to he taken on the spot. 
As yet there had been no instance of any one being arrested 
in the open street. What I made sure of was, that these very 
men would be at our house almost as soon as myself, and with 
the undoubted purpose of seizing my person. In fact, they 
did allow me to pass unquestioned and unmolested. 

If, in the interval between seeing them and reaching home, 
any transient doubt of their purpose had crossed my mind, the 
sight of persons standing in every doorway of the street in 
which we lived — evidently on the watch for something or 
some one, would have dispelled it. The recollection was fresh 
in my memory, that just such had been the case on the night 
of my brother Caesar’s arrest, and I remembered hearing a 
neighbor relate, that he had overheard one of the police scouts 
say to the other, “He’s gone in!” and that almost imme- 
diately afterward the emissaries of the law had crowded into 
our house. 

One of those childish whimsical impulses which do sometimes 
so unaccountably rise and govern men’s minds, even on the 
most solemn occasions, seized upon me at that moment ; and, 
amid a confusion of painful and exciting thoughts, I must con- 
fess that the uppermost was, how I could prevent the success 
of the same manoeuvre a second time. 

Full of this idea, when I came to my owm door, instead of 
going in, I passed it, and went on to where I knew there was 
a dark archway, through which I suddenly darted, rushing 
down first one turning and then another. In the labyrinth 


NOCTURNAL CHASE— A MOTUKr’s HEART. 319 

of ill-Hglited narroAv streets, that characterize all the ancient 
cities of Italy, I soon distanced the persons who, upon seeing 
me pass the house, had begun to pursue me. 

I heard one step, however, gaining on me, and being by this 
time too much out of breath to run any farther, I slipped 
quietly into one of the pitch-dark doorways at hand. My 
pursuers passed close by, but never thought of looking into my 
hiding-place. I waited patiently until even the faint echo of 
footsteps had died away, and only then venturing cautiously 
out, in little more than a minute reached our own house, 
round which I had described a semicircle, and stole in 
unperceived. 

I went at once to my mother’s room, for it was my invariable 
custom to see her before going to bed, and to talk over with 
her the occurrences of the day. Anxiety and sadness had 
indeed long usurped the place of the cheerfulness that once 
used to brighten that hour, but it was nevertheless as dear to 
us in sorrow as it had been in gladness. How was I to tell my 
poor mother that even this consolation was to be taken from 
her? how prepare her to see another son dragged to prison? 

There was no help for it, however, and I must behold her 
agony. The smile with which she welcomed me very nearly 
upset all the fortitude I had been striving to gain. 

I scarcely know what I said, or what passed between us. 

Who can remember the broken words of such bitter mo- 
ments ? Every mother’s heart at least will understand, and 
throb with sympathy for the anguish of that hour. 

Let me say it with filial pride, my mother’s character was 
no common one. Its distinguishing feature was a piety so true, 
so real, so humble, that she scarcely knew herself to be pious. 
Hers was a spirit that never flinched before daily self- 
sacrifice. Such a woman, after the first outburst of agony, 
would know how to control the evidences of the emotions of 
a heart as tender as ever beat in woman’s breast; and so 
indeed she did. 

Since I had resolved at making no attempt at either con- 
cealment or flight, she sought, by lavishing- on me all that 
divine tenderness with which God has gifted a mother’s heart. 


320 


LORENZO BEXONI. 


to strengthen and console me. All that her too sad experience 
could suggest for 'my future comfort, was done quietly and 
unobtrusively. I knew that she put into my purse all the 
little gold that was in the house, and, mindful even of my habit 
of smoking, she gave me the requisites for striking a light. 
Trifles ! but proofs of a mighty self-control in a mother so 
situated. Vain cares they would be, alas ! for a poor prisoner 
was allowed no money, no smoking, and everything that could 
in the least administer to his comfort was pitilessly snatched 
from him. 

At her suggestion, I took a crust of bread and a glass of 
wine, and then we sat down side by side to await the issue. 
Moments of such intense thought and emotion rarely give birth 
to outward demonstrations. 

We were not left long in suspense. A loud ringing at the 
door soon startled us. “Courage, my mother!” I exclaimed, 
clasping her in my arms, “ the moment of trial is come!” She 
broke from my hold, and throwing herself on her knees before 
a picture of the Madonna and her holy child, which hung from 
the wall, “ Mother of mercy,” she cried, with a fervency most 
touching to witness, “ spare me, oh, spare me this one ! but now 
and ever, the will of God be done !” 

By the time we reached the hall, my mother had recovered 
ner composure. Old Caterina, aghast at the sight of the 
unexpected and unwelcome visiters, crept softly and slowly to 
our side. Santina, on the contrary, nothing daunted, with 
fierce distended eyes, and inflated nostrils, stood erect, con- 
fronting the two commissaries of police, who were a little in 
advance of four carabineers. I myself, my mother, and my 
youngest brother, stopped opposite to them ; the dead, threat- 
ening silence broken only by the unconnected words of prayer 
which Caterina kept murmuring. As far as the faint glare 
of two small brass lamps would allow me to see, the counte- 
nances of the carabineers and their companions were strikingly 
pale. Probably some of the former (the latter were both new 
faces) had, not many nights previously come on a similar er- 
rand ; and it is only justice to humanity to suppose, that even 
in hearts hardened by long habit to look on misery unmoved, 


god’s fingkk. 


321 


there may hare vibrated some chord of sympathy for the ago- 
nized mother they saw before them for the second time. 

Be this as it may, we remained for some minutes facing each 
other in utter silence, like hostile armies awaiting the signal 
of attack. My father now joined us, evidently much alarmed. 
I did succeed at last in making him understand, by several 
expressive gestures, that it was his part to speak. He then 
addressed the elder of the two civil officers, and demanded to 
be informed of the reason of this domiciliary visit. 

Like a ghost, who, it is said, must be spoken to ere it can 
speak, the commissary advanced a step or two, drew forth a 
long paper, and began to read as follows : — 

“ By order of his excellency the governor of Genoa, the 
commissary of police of the second division is desired to pro- 
ceed to the immediate arrest of the person of Signor Camillo 
Benoni, barrister-at-law.” 

The half-suppressed cry which involuntarily burst from my 
mother’s lips interrupted the reader, who looked round some- 
what perplexed. I had already stepped forward, and was 
about to speak, when the younger of the police-officers passed 
quickly behind me, and said, in so low and rapid a whisper, 
that I rather guessed than heard the words, “ Tacete, ne va la 
vita “ Hush ! your life is at stake !” 

One moment before, my situation had been so desperate, that 
to have entertained a thought or hope of escape, would have 
been pronounced insanity ; and now, by a lucky chance, or I 
ought rather to say through the mercy of God, a door of safety 
was opened to me. My eldest brother’s name (I have already 
mentioned his being also a barrister) had, by some inexplica- 
ble blunder, been substituted for mine. As he had ever been 
a stranger to all our plots and conspiracies, though he might 
be detained in prison till the mistake of names had been veri- 
fied, no serious danger was to be apprehended for him. 

This consideration, and my mother’s eloquent though mute 
entreaties, shut my mouth, and induced me to let matters take 
their 'course. My brother’s bedroom being at the farthest end 
of an upper story, he had heard no noise, and was sleeping 
quiety, when my father, closely followed by two carabineers, 

14 * 


322 


LORENZO BENONI. 


and the younger of the police-officers, went to him, and de- 
sired him to get up. In spite of the sharp watch kept over 
them, my father managed to let him know, in a few hurried 
words, the mistake which, for the present, was to cost him his 
liberty. 

Camillo willingly obeyed the summons, gave up all his pa- 
pers, in which he knew that nothing could be found to incrimi- 
nate him, and, with a heart lighter than prisoners can usually 
boast, went off to prison in my stead. I may as well mention 
here that he remained in confinenent much longer than we had 
anticipated. Some months indeed elapsed before he was set 
at liberty. 

This incident had fully awakened my mother to a sense of 
the dangers which menaced me, and the next morning she 
spoke to me — oh, so earnestly ! She represented that, still to 
persist in remaining in Genoa after what had happened, was 
more than madness ; it was opposing the will of God, who had 
blinded my enemies to save me ; that what I considered my 
duty toward my companions in danger and misfortune, ought 
not to make me entirely overlook what I owed to a mother 
already more than sufficiently tried, and to the rest of my 
family. 

Her arguments, but still more the tears and supplications 
with which they were seconded, had already, to a certain de- 
gree, shaken my resolution, when in came Uncle John, who, 
to my mother’s prayers and remonstrances, added his own. 
He had that morning seen one of his friends, the magistrate 
of whom I have once before spoken. This gentleman had 
called on my uncle for the express purpose of informing him 
that the police had already got scent of the mistake of the pre- 
ceding evening. If I did not get out of the way without de- 
lay, I was lost past redemption. 

Alfred, and a few more friends who had the courage to 
gather round us in this hour of peril, pressed me earnestly to 
go. “Would the sacrifice of my life,” they urged, “ in any 
way benefit or tend to the safety of those for whose sake I 
considered it my duty to remain ? I had given ample proofs 
of courage and devotedness to the cause for which we had 


LILLA. 


323 


joined together No shadow of blame could attach to me if I 
yielded to the prayers of my mother, and to the wishes of my 
friends.” 

I was still hesitating, when I was told that a lady desired 
to see me on pressing business. I gave orders that she should 
be shown into my little study, and went at once to see who it 
could be. 

As I entered the room, the lady took off her veil. It was 
Lilia, as my heart had already guessed. I could not suppress 
a hasty exclamation of surprise, not at her unexpected visit, 
but at the alteration in her looks. 

She was pale, haggard, emaciated, looking ten years older • 
than when I had last seen her. 

“ I hope you will excuse my intrusion,” she began in a hur- 
ried voice, “ on account of the motive that brings me. There 
is no time for either ceremony or reserve. You are to be ar- 
rested this very evening ; Alberto heard it from the governor’s 
own lips not half an hour ago. There is no time to lose ! I 
have brought my servant with me on purpose. You must 
change clothes with him, and come home with me. For a short 
while you will be safe with us.” 

All this had been uttered in a breath. I was going to an- 
swer, but she gave me no time. 

“ For God’s sake, make no objections, or — 0 Lorenzo ! have 
mercy on me, for I am in utter despair !” She burst into tears, 
and sobbed aloud. 

I took advantage of the moment of calm which followed this 
passionate outbreak, and said : “ Listen to me, Lilia. At the 
very moment you came, I had almost consented to leave Genoa. 
The news you bring decides me. I promise you faithfully 
that before dark this evening I will leave this house. I have 
thought of a place where I shall be tolerably safe, until I can 
manage to quit the city altogether. Do not think that I refuse 
•your assistance because it is you who offer it ; believe me, there 
is no one from whom I would so willingly accept a favor or 
kindness as from yourself ; but what I neither ought to do nor 
will do is, to run the risk of bringing you or your noble brother 
into danger or difficulty on my account.” 


321: 


LORENZO BEN ONI. 


1 saw that she was about to remonstrate, so I hastily added : 
“No, no, Lilia — say no more on this subject; do not agitate 
yourself and me by a useless discussion. I again repeat my 
promise of seeking some safer abode than this house, and that 
before dark. My poor, suffering child” — I could not forbear 
the words, as she turned her piteous, pale face toward me — 
“ spare me a little in your turn : this is a moment of bitter 
agony to me, to us both ; do not unman me, and make me un- 
able for the terrible struggle that is before me. Think of my 
poor mother, Lilia.” 

She bowed her head over her hands : then made me promise 
to send Alfred to her the next morning, that she might have 
some tidings of me. 

“ God bless you, Lilia! For my sake remember my many 
unfortunate fellow-sufferers ; many need help.” By this time 
I had supported her to the door. She turned to me, while a 
shudder ran through her whole frame, saying, “ Ah, Lorenzo, 
this is more than a bad dream I” I just caught the sound of — 
“Farewell, Lorenzo,” and she was gone — my poor Lilia! 

A few hours afterward I left home to take refuge in the 
house of Santina’s eldest sister, who was married to a Genoese, 
and lived in the populous Quartiere of Pre. To eke out their 
means, they let some of their spare rooms to work-people and 
day-laborers, and we considered it as a place in which a new 
lodger was not likely to attract attention or excite suspicion. 
It afforded me, besides, the advantage of a safe mode of com- 
munication with my family through Santina, who was in the 
habit of frequently visiting her sister. 

I knew that I might depend on the fidelity of the whole 
family ; and I decided, therefore, to remain with them until 
the necessary measures could be taken for my escape. 

Of the anguish of the parting hour I shall not say a word. 
Certainly the human heart is a wonderful piece of workman- 
ship, to stand such shocks without going to pieces. 


PEErARATIONS FOE FLIGHT 


325 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

AFTER BEING TRIED IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE, THE FUGITIVE 
EMBARKS FOR THE COAST OF FRANCE. 

During the first day of my concealment I, received a letter 
and a purse of gold, both from Lilia. The letter was a long 
and most touching one, in which she frankly acknowledged 
all her faults toward me, and prayed for pardon, in token of 
my granting which she begged me to accept the money which 
she sent. “ It may he of use to you,” she wrote, “ in the new 
and precarious situation in which you are about to be placed.” 

I answered this letter in words prompted by my heart — 
gratefully and affectionately — but I declined the money, al- 
leging the truth, that my father and Uncle John had supplied 
me with a sum far beyond my need. I prayed Lilia not to 
forget my parting recommendation of those of my fellow-suf- 
ferers who might he in a position to require pecuniary aid. I 
told her also not to attribute my refusal to pride or resentment ; 
“ I would keep the purse and one of the gold pieces in remem- 
brance of her.” 

It took three days to find men willing and able to convey 
me out of the country, even with the certainty of receiving a 
good round sum for their services. A passport also having 
been procured under a false name, other minor difficulties 
being overcome, and the few preparations for my comfort that 
my perilous situation permitted being concluded, late in the 
afternoon of the third day, the person who had undertaken 
to land me safely on the French coast came to me with a bun- 
dle of sailor’s clothes, this being the disguise which had been 
chosen. 


326 


LOKKNZO BKNONI. 


He told me it had Leen agreed upon between himself and 
his men, that in any danger — whether of discovery or only 
of suspicion — I was to pass for an English gentleman bent 
on a fishing-excursion ; to corroborate which assertion suita- 
ble clothes were to be placed in the boat in which I w^as to 
embark. 

This man, whom, as he commanded our expedition, I shall 
in future always call the captain, is worthy of a few words of 
description. He was a tall, sun-burnt, fine-looking fellow, 
about thirty years of age, with a profusion of black hair and 
whiskers, and would have been decidedly handsome but for a 
cast in one eye. His whole person, voice, attitude, and ges- 
ture, bespoke energy, resolution, and indifference to danger, 
which, indeed, in his adventurous life — that of a smuggler — 
he had so often been called on to face, as to have grown some- 
what reckless and defiant of it. To complete my sketch, I 
must add that he was never seen without a cigar between his 
lips. When not lighted, he held it caressingly, as it had been 
a flower, in the left corner of his mouth, amusing himself by 
alternate chewing and spitting. 

I dressed myself, as he directed, in a checked shirt, white 
trousers, and glazed hat, and hastened back to the room in 
which I had left him with my host and hostess, and Santina, 
v/ho had come to see me off. The captain was in a hurry, and 
my parting words were few. 

“Thank you, Maria — thank you, Luigi — God bless you — 
and good-by, Santina!” I stooped down to embrace her, as I 
had done the others ; but Santina pushed me violently back, 
saying, “ Do you think you can break a heart, and heal it with 
a kiss and a ‘ God bless you V ” 

“ Why, what is the matter with you, Santina ?” I asked, 
startled, and only then noticing her wild looks and quiver- 
ing lip. 

“ You are not really going aw^ay, are you ?” 

For answer, I pointed to my new equipment. 

“ W^hy need you go she continued in a higher tone ; “ can’t 
you stay here? Who will think of looking for you here? 
We will take care no harm comes to you; and if it comes to 


LOGIC OF THE HEART. 


327 


the worst, you have committed no crime ; they can do nothing 
to you.” 

“ Oh, nothing but hang him !” said the captain, bluntly. 

Saiitina started, and then, after a pause, muttered: “Well, 
let him go, then — let him go ; the sooner the better. Go !” 
she said, turning to me, and she sank upon a stool, staring at 
the wall with vacant eyes, the very picture of despair. 

The captain motioned to me to go at once. I felt that time 
pressed ; still I could not resolve to leave the poor girl without 
a word of consolation. I was dreadfully perplexed at this un- 
foreseen difficulty. 

“ Why can’t I go with you said Santina, suddenly jump- 
ing up, her features brightening; “why can’t I go with youl” 
You can not do without a servant, go where you will; and 
suppose you were ill, who is to take care of you, and to nurse 
you ? Oh, do let me go with you !” 

I had to argue the matter with her, and, in point of logic, 
very often had the worst of the argument. I pleaded her 
youth, my youth, the talk of the world, the certain loss of her 
character. She did not understand, poor soul, how and why 
being young, and staying with me, could injure her reputation. 

“ Was I not her master? was she not my servant? had she 
not been so for years? Well, then, if she did lose her char- 
acter, she should care very little. Let people think what they 
liked : where there was no harm, there was no shame. Was 
it not so ?” 

Another of my objections was the scantiness of my means. 
I should have scarcely enough for one ; how, then, provide 
for two ? Even as I uttered the words, I felt how paltry they 
sounded, used as an argument against a warm and disinterested 
affection like hers. God knows they were dictated by a sense 
of duty to this innocent, loving heart. 

Santina had her answer ready. “ She wanted no wages ; 
she could cook, mend my linen, be useful in a hundred ways; 
she was sure she should he a saving to me.” 

I spoke to her of my mother. I told her what confidence I 
ha.d in her affection and devotion to that poor bereaved mother 
I prayed her not to desert the afflicted woman. 


328 


LORENZO BENONI. 


These words seemed to have some effect upon her. She lis- 
tened attentively, and without answering. The thought of my 
mother in her loneliness made her waver. 

The captain again w hispered to me that we must go, or we 
should miss the men he had hired. Santina looked so calm 
and collected, that I thought I had better take advantage of 
the moment, and be gone. A few hurried w^ords, a parting 
kiss, and I w^alked tow^ard the door. But before I had reached 
it, Santina w^as on the floor in strong convulsions. 

The long pent-up passion of her nature burst forth with fear- 
ful intensity. The combined efforts of the four persons pres- 
ent, three of wdiom were strong young men, could hardly con- 
trol the frantic movements of this slender girl. It w’as frightful 
to see the clenched teeth, the distorted features, of the poor 
thing — to see her body writhe and twdst, the veins of her 
throat and face sw'elled to bursting; but more frightful to re- 
member that all this physical suffering arose from a moral 
cause. 

Now and then exhausted nature would grant a respite, and 
then the poor sufferer would bemoan herself in such touching 
w’^ords, that every eye — even those of the captain, though all 
unused to the melting mood — were moist with tears. 

“Ah me ! ah me !” she said, “what have I done to deserve 
this great pain ? Madonna Santa ! is it a sin to love one’s owm 
master ? It is not my fault if I can not bear to see him go 
aw^ay. It breaks my heart ; it does indeed. He was such a 
good master — so gentle! He taught me to read and write; 
he was never harsh to me, never scolded me, never so much 
as frowned upon me. His voice w^as like music to me. What 
wonder, then, that I learned to love him ? I must have had 
no heart ! I know^ that he is a gentleman, and that I am 
only a poor servant ; but what of that ? Such as I am I can 
serve and love him. All I ask is, only to see him — yes, to 
see him every day. That is not much, but it is everything 
to me 1” 

And in this strain she would go on until the fit again seized 
her. 

I profited by the first interval of calmness to take the cap- 


SOOTHING DRAUGHT. 


329 


tain aside, and tell him that my leaving the poor creature in 
this state was out of the question, but that I Avould go on the 
morroAv if circumstances would allow me ; that he must have 
everything in readiness, and call for me again at dusk. He 
made no objection, and shortly after took his leave. I then 
went to Santina, and told her that I had given up all thoughts 
for the present of going away — indeed, of going at any time, 
unless she gave her consent. 

The effect of this announcement was instantaneous. Her 
features, hitherto so contracted by spasms, at once relaxed. 
She said not a word, but she took my hand, kissed it, and 
looked up thankfully in my face. The paroxysms having 
ceased, we made her a little couch with chairs and pillows; 
and there she lay with her eyes closed, weeping silently. 
Once or twice her sister remonstrated with her for crying, but 
Santina answered : “ Let me cry ; it does me good. I shall be 
more reasonable by-and-by.” 

So she went on weeping and slumbering, ever and anon 
starting up with the question, “Is he gone?” but, on hearing 
my voice, relapsing again into her quiet mood. 

A little after twelve o’clock, she fell asleep, and slept for 
nearly two hours. Her sister and her sister’s husband had 
long been fast asleep on a mattress on the floor. When she 
awoke, she asked what o’clock it was. I told her ; and then 
she begged me to come to her, and in a whisper that was 
scarcely audible — she was so worn out, poor young thing! — 
she said : — 

“ You must go. I should never forgive myself if,, on my ac- 
count ” She did not complete the sentence, but a shudder 

that came over her showed the current of her thoughts. “ You 
mu^t go, and without any more delay. Promise me that you 
will.” I promised. “ I know you will forgive me for having 
been so foolish, and you will pardon, too, all the trouble I have 
given you ; indeed, I could not help it — I knew not what I 
was doing. As for your dear mother, do not be uneasy. I 
will stay with her, and will do for her all that I would do for 
yourself. God for ever bless you for all your kindness to me. 
Now, go and take some rest.” 


330 


LOKKNZO BKNONT. 


I said I felt no inclination to sleep, and would rather remain 
with her; hut she insisted, and I went away to my own little 
room. It was long before I could close my eyes. When I got 
up in the morning at seven o’clock, Santina was gone — had 
been gone for hours : she had walked home, accompanied by 
her sister and brother-in-law. “ She was still weak,” they 
said, “ but calm.” 

Gentle, devoted, self-controlling Santina ! May God tem- 
per the wind to thee, poor shorn lamb ! 

At dusk the captain reappeared, and, leaving the house 
arm-in-arm, we soon reached “ Sottoripa.” This species of 
tunnel, into which light is admitted only through loopholes small 
and far between, is dismal and gloomy enough even at mid- 
day, but, at the hour at which we entered, it was pitch-dark. 
We were groping our way along, quickly enough, when 
we stumbled against a figure standing in the middle of our 
path. 

“ Whoever you may be, get out of the way !” growled the 
captain. 

“ It is I !” exclaimed a voice well known to me. 

You, Alfred ?” I exclaimed ; “ how kind of you !” 

“ Yes, it is I,” he whispered ; “ but I am not alone.** 

At the same time, I felt two small, cold hands seeking mine, 
and a voice, inarticulate with sobs, that came from the level of 
my knees, and went straight to my heart, murmured, “ Oh, say 
that you forgive me ! say that you forgive me !” 

“ I do forgive you, and with all my heart,” whispered I, 
raising her gently, and pressing her to my bosom. It was 
Lilia. “ God bless you, my child, as I bless you from my 
soul !” and as I said so, I parted her ringlets, and kissed her 
forehead. It was the first kiss I had ever given her. 

The captain began to shoAv visible symptoms of impatience; 
he urged me forward, and we passed on. 

By the time we reached Ponte Reale, it was quite dusk. 
To get to the place of embarkation we had to pass through a 
narrow wicket, close to a customhouse officer, and to do this it 
was necessary to step over a high board. Preoccupied and 


THE REVENUE-CUTTER. 


331 


anxious as I was, I did not observe tliis obstacle, and conse- 
quently stumbled over it. 

“A bad omen, sir!” exclaimed tlie officer, little suspecting 
how laden with sad meaning his words sounded in the ear of 
the fugitive. Somewhat vexed, but now thoroughly roused 
from my torpor, I hastened after the captain, who, just as we 
were stepping into the small boat that was waiting for us, 
whispered to me, “ Always speak Italian, never Genoese.” 
These words seemed to imply such a want of confidence in his 
crew, that they made an unfortunately sinister impression on 
me ; and I set out, not only much depressed, but tormented by 
a new and vague suspicion. 

The wide expanse of the port and all that part of the city 
which crowds round its vast semicircle lay hid in deep shade, 
but the high towers of Carignano and the ramparts of Santa 
Chiara rose vividly before me, bathed in the warm and glori- 
ous light of an Italian moon. I fixed my eyes on these famil- 
iar objects with the intense gaze and all the feelings of a man 
who was to look on them no more. 

The boat had been provided with fishing-tackle, to give a 
color of truth to the story of my pretended whim for a fishing- 
excursion. Outside the port a larger and faster boat was to 
meet us, furnished with provisions for our voyage to France. 

By some blunder or accident the boat was not waiting for 
us ; and, in this unforeseen dilemma, we had no better alter- 
native than to keep tacking, in the hope that it might soon 
make its appearance. Unfortunately our manoeuvres attracted 
the attention of the guarda-costa or revenue-cutter, always on 
the lookout for smugglers, and I was not a little alarmed at 
seeing her bear down upon us. When sufficiently near, the 
officer on duty ordered us to lie to, and sent some of the cus- 
tomhouse men, armed with enormous trombones, on board of 
us. They searched each hole and corner, overhauling every- 
thing they could lay their hands on ; but finding nothing to 
warrant their detaining us, they returned to the cutter, leaving 
us free to follow our own course. 

The boat, however, without which it was impossible to carry 
through our project, was nowhere to be seen, and the captain 


332 


LORENZO BKNONI. 


was consulting with me as to what was to he done in this 
emergency, when, lo and behold, our customhouse enemy again 
appeared close to us. 

In spite of the visit and examination to which we had 
already heen subjected, the revenue officer, who had recog- 
nised in the captain a notorious smuggler, could not divesi 
himself of suspicions, excited by our unaccountable manoeu- 
vres, and acting on the strength of these doubts, he commanded 
us, in terms that admitted of neither reply nor delay, to return 
to shore. 

In the short interval that occurred, the captain did his best 
to keep up my courage, protesting that there was no danger 
if I would trust entirely to his management, and remain silent 
and passive ; which my character as a stranger, almost alto- 
gether ignorant of the language of the country, authorized and 
rendered natural. Not to speak was easy enough, but to pre- 
vent my countenance from betraying the feelings that agitated 
me, was a sufficiently difficult task. Fortunately I was not 
required to appear, and could remain in the boat with the man 
and boy, who for the present constituted our crew. 

The captain went alone to the inspecting officer ; and we 
were so near the shore that I could hear my friend expostu- 
lating, remonstrating, and explaining with a bold volubility 
that began to reanimate my hope of escape. It was on this 
occasion that I first discovered the captain’s peculiar talent 
for swearing ; indeed, in the course of our further acquaint- 
ance, I found that he could not say four successive words on 
any subject — love, war, or commerce — without interlarding 
them with oaths, that would have been ridiculous if they had 
not been frightful. 

In this case his peculiar eloquence succeeded, for he returned 
to us with the news that we were at liberty to pursue our 
course. The two circumstances — first, that of the non-appear- 
ance of the larger boat, and, secondly, our compulsory return 
to land, had evidently determined the captain to make some 
change in his plans ; so at least I judged from the whispering 
that took place between him and the man he had left in the 
boat with me, who immediately afterward leaped on shore, and 


ON TJIE BEACH. 


333 


was soon out of sight. The boy was desired to row ns to the 
landing-place of the lanteriia or lighthouse. When we got 
there the captain told me we had better walk to San Pier 
d’ Aren a, a large suburb of Genoa, about half a mile from where 
we then were. 

I made no remark, nor did I ever ask for any explanation. 
My mind was in that state which made me feel it a relief to 
be treated as if I were a machine or bale of goods. We walked 
on in silence to San Pier d’Arena, and when the captain sat 
down on the beach, I followed his example with the same 
lethargic resignation I had shown and felt as to everything 
since leaving Genoa. Thick-coming thoughts coursed through 
my brain, graven still on my memory, but incapable of being 
rendered into words, like the multitude of faces one sees pass- 
ing in a crowd, or peopling our dreams, distinctly present to 
our inward sense, but which, when we attempt to delineate 
them for others, elude our grasp as shadows which a child 
seeks to catch. Home, country, friends, all so dear and yet 
so distant ! The soil that I trode once more, and which I 
thought I had left for ever, burned my feet. There was no 
repose, no rest for me, as I lay stretched on the bosom of my 
native land ; there was only a voice of wo echoing through 
my soul, like the wind as it sighs and wails through the forest 
on its errand of desolation. 

From this sad and bitter state I was roused by the captain, 
who pointed out to me the little boat we had left at the lan- 
terna, close into the beach in front of us, with a person stand- 
ing up in it making signals to us. “There is no time to lose!” 
said he. We both ran as fast as we could, and stepped in; 
the captain himself taking a pair of oars we were soon along- 
side of the cutter, which had so disappointed us, and, leaping 
on board, at length set out for our destined port in France. 

In spite of all these delays and interruptions it was not 
much past eleven o’clock when we left San Pier d’Arena. 
The night was so calm, that there was scarce a ripple on the 
sea ; it was therefore of no use to set the sails, and the men 
continued to row, keeping very close to the shore. Toward 
dawn we began to feel the breeze coming up ; the sails were 


334 


LORENZO BKNONI. 


hoisted, and very soon I became sensible of the accelerated 
motion of the boat. The moon had shone brightly tbrongh- 
out the night, and the tall column of the lanterna, hitherto 
distinctly visible to me, now gradually faded from before my 
eyes, which strained to see it long after it had quite vanished 
from sight. It was then that I felt in its full entireness 
that I was a fugitive. So long as I saw that well-known 
object, I certainly had not realized the idea that I was 
absolutely and utterly without either home or country ; that 
perhaps I should never again behold my mother’s face. Till 
one has experienced it, one know^s not all the consoling power 
of association that lies in familiar inanimate objects. When 
I lost sight of the lanterna, it was as if I had again been 
torn from the arms of those so dear to me, and a host of 
recollections crow^ded round me of past happy days, days of 
youth, of joy, of hope, such as could never more return for 
the exiled man. The die w^as cast ; I Avas proscribed, a wan- 
derer on the AAude w^orld ; nay, my very life and liberty were 
no longer in my owm power, they w^ere in the hands of the men 
before me. 

As this thought crossed me, I turned to observe them more 
narrowly than I had yet done. Beside the captain, there Avere 
tAvo men and the boy I have already mentioned. Only one 
of these persons made any unpleasant impression on me ; the 
boy and one of the men had insignificant commonplace coun- 
tenances, but the other w^as not one to be OA^erlooked, even in 
a crowd. He AA^as on the foremost tliAA^art, and consequently 
directly opposite and very near to me. 

Who has not at one period or other of his life, felt a serious 
and unaccountable discomfort in the presence of a person seen 
for the first time? — a discomfort felt before one has had time 
for e\"en the most rapid analysis of physiognomy or manner ? 
Who does not understand those instinctive repugnances, car- 
ried sometimes so far that our mental faculties are paralyzed 
if Ave are compelled to remain long in the society of certain 
individuals, though AA^e avoid either intercourse or contact with 
them ? 

This AA^as my case, when, awaking from the thoughts that 


SPALATRO. 


335 


had till then absorbed me, I began to examine my companions, 
and my eyes fell on this man. His low, retiring forehead, his 
bristling red hair, his month, on which a continual sneer seemed 
chiselled, brought back to my recollection a bravo in one of 
Mrs. lladcliffe’s romances, “The Black Confessional,” the de- 
light of my boyhood. The name of this bravo was Spalatro, 
and I at once baptized the man before me by that name. 
From the expression of his cruel eye as it met mine, I am 
sure that my instinctive feeling of antipathy was more than 
fully returned. After that first glance, he always avoided look- 
ing at me, except when he thought I was otherwise engaged. 

We had sailed on for some time in silence, when, from some 
accidental movement of mine, my purse, which was full of gold, 
fell out of my pocket, and some of the money was scattered 
about the boat. A general scramble ensued to catch the coin 
before it should roll under the planks ; it was all found and 
given back to me with good-natured alacrity, except by 
Spalatro, on whose face there was an expression not to be 
mistaken, of avarice and covetousness, as he handed me what 
he had picked up. The bustle occasioned by this little inci- 
dent soon subsided, and the silence was unbroken save by the 
creaking of the mast, the straining of the ropes, or an occa- 
sional ominous flap of one or other of the sails. The weather 
was evidently changing, and that for the worse. The boat 
before long began to pitch, and reel, and rock, quivering as 
the waves came with a thud against its low sides; yet I, who 
all my life had been a martyr to sea-sickness, felt in this 
instance perfectly well, and able to smoke with the same tran- 
quillity as these veteran sea-dogs my companions. I must 
have owed this exemption from bodily suffering to the extreme 
tension and pre-occupation of my mind. 

After some time, however, I began to observe that the faces 
around me wore signs of some uneasiness ; there were eager 
looks at the sky, then at the waves, over which we were 
literally bounding, and most anxious glances at the captain — 
a sort of silent appeal that remained apparently unnoticed, 
certainly unanswered, for he continued to smoke as if uncon- 
scious that there were such things as threatening clouds. 


336 


LORENZO BKNONT. 


liowling winds, and raging seas. At length, after we had been 
for some minutes scudding before the wind with alarming velo- 
city, he ordered the sails to be lowered, and the men to take to 
fheir oars. This order seemed to break the spell, which until 
now had kept the men silent. Spalatro was the spokesman, 
asking in a voice low'ered to a whisper in concentrated passion, 
why we were not to endeavor to land until the squall had 
blown over. The captain for all answer, desired him to mind 
his oars and wait for orders ; that it was his way to command, 
and not to be commanded by his men. The Rubicon was 
passed, and urged on by the instinct of self-preservation, noAV 
roused in ail its intensity by the sight of our perilous situation, 
Spalatro', in a loud voice, and his eyes red with hatred and 
vengeance fixed on me, swore he would not risk his life without 
knowing a reason why. The captain was now in a passion 
also. He rose up, made a -cross of his two thumbs, kissed it 
fervently, and said : “By this holy sign, you shall obey me; 
3-0U agreed to go with me to France; you have received half 
the sum for which you hired yourself, and go you shall. It is 
a matter of life and death to this gentleman,” pointing to me, 
“ and that’s the reason we can not go on shore.” 

“You said when you engaged me,” retorted Spalatro, glaring 
fiercely at me, “that he was a bankrupt escaping from his 
creditors. I guess the truth now ; better that one perish than 
four.” 

As he said these words, he flung down his oars, and the other 
two seemed about to follow his example ; but before they had 
time to do so, the captain had sprung from my side, seized 
Spalatro by his collar, thrown him with a jerk fit to break his 
back into the bottom of the boat, and, taking the pair of oars 
himself, began to row, making the boat bound at each stroke 
as if he had combined the strength of ten men in his two arms, 
The other sailors were cowed, and remained silent and aefpe'’ 
at their oars. 

For more than two hours did this struggle continue between 
the tempest’s force and the energy of man. At the enS of that 
time tile wind lulled, and though the waves still rose mena- 
cingly around us, it was clear that all immediate risk waa ever. 


MUTINY MASTERED. 


337 


The captain resumed his former place by me, motioning to 
Spalatro, who was sitting sulky and silent in the bottom of the 
boat, where he had fallen, to return to his duty. He obeyed 
with the dogged look of a cur that has been chastised by his 
master. 

This disturbance caused a painful feeling of restraint among 
us, and clothed with a substantial form the vague suspicions 
which had assailed me on first entering the boat. 

15 


838 


LORENZO BENONI. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE FUGITIVE. 

The day wore tediously on in a monotony most trying to 
the spirits, even if body and mind be in a cheerful, healthy 
state. To me it gave time to dwell exclusively on my many 
subjects of grief and dread. 

As the shades of evening closed over us, the feeling of dis- 
comfort which had harassed me during the day began to deepen 
into something more alarming and acute. My head was burn- 
ing hot ; my temples beat as if they would burst ; convulsive 
shiverings shook my frame ; my diseased imagination called 
up all sorts of fantastic and revolting pictures, on which my 
thoughts fixed themselves with gloomy pertinacity. In vain 
did I try to reason with myself — in vain did I exert myself 
to chase away those haunting demons — monstrous creations 
of a tottering brain. I had completely lost all control over 
myself. But, to understand how I had been brought to this 
state, without any sufficiently-exciting cause since leaving 
Genoa, I must revert in a few words to the past. 

The passiveness of my conduct from the night of my in- 
tended arrest up to the present moment must have struck ev- 
ery one. My anguish of heart and mind had, indeed, given 
few visible signs, but my emotions had only been smothered ; 
they had been working painfully and strongly under this coat- 
ing of ice. The moment must inevitably come when these 
bitter waters of the soul would crack their brittle, fragile cov- 
ering, and, like the terrible dehacles of the physical world, ruin 
and ravage the territary of my reason. 

This was the fifth night I had passed without sleep. The 


BORDERING ON DELIRIUM. 


339 


four days and nights I had been in concealment had been 
spent in that state of restlessness peculiar to persons who, un- 
der very exciting circumstances, such as would naturally call 
forth immediate action, are condemned to remain passive in- 
struments in the hands of others. Almost all the hours of 
those weary days and nights I kept pacing up and down, to 
and fro, in the little room that had been assi^ed to me. 
Scarcely any solid food had passed my lips ; I was too sick at 
heart to eat. To support my strength I now and then took a 
sip of white wine. How well I remember the little table on 
which the decanter and glass were placed, the scanty odd fur- 
niture, and the quaint, mystical picture of the Madonna hang- 
ing at the head of the bed. My position was far from being a 
safe one ; the merest trifle might render all our precautions 
useless ; every fibre of my heart was thrilling with the agony 
of the farewell to my mother, added to which were grief and 
vexation at having been, however innocently, the cause of my 
brother Camillo’s arrest — and that, too, at a moment when 
arrests were more' frequent than liberations. I was, besides, 
uneasy about many dear friends and associates already impris- 
oned, or liable to be so at any moment. 

But all these conflicting thoughts and sorrows were forgot- 
ten in the gnaAving anxiety and terror that filled my heart on 
account of Caesar, my friend and beloved companion from my 
boyhood until now. I had the most horrible presentiment as 
to his fate — presentiment is often but the prescience of love; 
and did I not too cruelly prove it so ? 

Let the reader bear in mind all this mental torture ; let him 
recall the uninterrupted series of agitations I had endured 
within so short a period ; let him consider the physical ex- 
haustion in which I was from want of food and sleep — and he 
Avill not be astonished if, at the moment of which I write, a 
hot fever was scorching up the life in my veins, and I was in 
a state bordering on delirium. 

The thought which amid the feverish confusion of my mind 
mastered all others was this — how easy it would be for the 
men in whose hands I was to get rid of me. Where was the 
obstacle to theii robbing and then destroying me, if it pleased 


LOEENZO BENONI. 


340 

them so to do? Who was there to question their assertions 
that they had landed me in safety ? I reasoned with curious, 
tormenting ingenuity to prove to myself that I had less chance 
of reaching my destination than if I had been a bale of goods. 
For that there would have been a bill of lading ; and if it did 
not come to hand, the person to whom it had been consigned 
would institute a search for it. But who would seek for me . 
Who expected me % Where was the proof of my having ever 
been in the boat with these men? We had neither seen nor 
spoken with any one since leaving San Pier d’Arena. The 
crew knew that I had a tempting quantity of gold about me ; 
they had already received half of the sum stipulated for the 
voyage, and did they not very well know that when, on their 
return to Genoa, they claimed the other moiety, my family 
would not dare to enter into any minute investigation as to 
my safety, and that in all probability years would elapse be- 
fore my fate could be ascertained ? 

Every trifle added fresh fuel to this nervous excitement. 
There was a large stone in the stern of the boat, possibly to 
serve as ballast. As my eye chanced to alight on it, I thought 

that stone round my neck — a hole in the water, followed by 

a gurgling, hollow sound, and then silence, a dead, mournful si- 
lence— horrible, horrible ! all looks as it did— there is nothing 
to bear witness that crime has been busy here. A day comes 
at last — a week, nay, perhaps a month hence — and some 
wave washes on the beach a swollen corpse, not to be recog- 
nised even by the tender mother herself. A crowd gathers, 
looking with horror and disgust, at what? — for that frightful 
object has almost lost all traces of humanity. I saw the whole 
scene from beginning to end enacted before me with all the 
vividness of reality. I did not spare myself one detail; there 
was a gloomy fascination in it. 

I must beg the reader to understand that it is with the great- 
est difficulty I can put my recollections of that frightful night 
into any kind of order. The various mental phases: through 
which I passed are sufficiently present to my memory ; but 
the order in which they succeeded one another, the connecting 
links, are entirely obliterated. However this may be, I re- 


STATE OF DUALITY. 


341 


member one circumstance which at another time might have 
passed unnoticed, but which then appeared to me full of dire- 
ful meaning. 

At one particular moment of the night I saw Spalatro lean 
toward his comrade and whisper something, to which the other 
gave an assenting nod. This was sufficient to turn the current 
of my thoughts into a fresh channel, and became, so to speak, 
the starting-point for new and more definite terrors. 

“ These men,” thought I, “ are then actually plotting against 
me.” Once upon this track, I kept on it, full gallop. To be 
sure they were : had I not felt all along how easy it would be 
for them to get rid of me — to murder me? 

Some time afterward, Spalatro laid down his oars and drew 
something out of his pocket, struck fire, and lighted his pipe. 
I followed his every motion and gesture with the thrilling ear- 
nestness of one who believed his life or death hung on a thread. 
Spalatro’s neighbor in his turn spoke in a whisper. “ A little 
later,” was the answer. I heard the wnrds distinctly. This 
put an end to my doubts ; it was a clear case. 

Let no one imagine that I yielded myself a willing victim 
to these terrors : on the contrary, the little reason still left me 
made desperate efforts to take the upper hand, but in vain. 
More than once I said to myself, “ This is all the work of a 
diseased imagination ;” and yet the moment afterward a word, 
a movement, or look of Spalatro’s, was sufficient to reawaken 
all my fears. In short, two distinct beings seemed to exist in 
me : one frantic, ravipg mad, the other in possession of his 
reason, watching, pitying, and striving to set the former to 
rights ; a sort of chorus, like that of the Greek tragedies, which 
always offering good advice, is never even listened to. 

“ How thankful should I be,” thought I, “ if I could fall 
asleep — ay, and never open my eyes again — if these men 
really mean to injure me, or else to sleep on till we have fairly 
reached France !” 

But to have to think and argue with myself, to seek an issue 
from an inextricable position ; to have to do this, weary to 
death in mind and body as I was, with the consciousness of 
inability to cope with my difficulties, oh ! words can not de*- 


342 


LORENZO BENONI. 


scribe the horror of such a situation. Unluckil) the outward 
world but too well hamonized with my gloomy, foreboding 
thoughts. Masses of black clouds were careering wildly through 
the sky, entirely veiling the hazy moon ; ram fell at intervals ; 
it was a dreary scene. The night must have been far ad- 
vanced • for the captain, who was seated at the poop by my 
side, was ready to drop with sleep. He had several times en- 
deavored to persuade me to lie down in the bottom of the boat 
and try to rest, hut all in vain ; I dared not ! At last, after 
another refusal, the motive of which he was certainly very far 
from suspecting, he himself took the advice he had givem me : 
he lay down, and a moment afterward was snoring gloriously. 

The presence of this man, who had won my entire confi- 
dence by his firm and loyal conduct through the squall of the 
preceding day, had, unknown to myself, exercised a salutary 
influence over me. With him departed the little ray of reason 
still left to me, and I gave myself up for lost. From that 
moment I ceased all struggle with the phantoms that so har- 
assed me, and became the unresisting prey of horrible hallu- 


cinations. 

At one moment Spalatro’s figure expanded to such gigantic 
dimensions that it reached the clouds; at another Ins arms 
and the oars he held united themselves into one frightful whole, 
and stretched themselves out to seize me; or else his eyes 
glowed like red-hot charcoal, and I saw him grin and shake 
his fist at me. Once during the night he spoke to me, and his 
voice sounded in my ears like a death-knell. 

“ Had you not better lie down and try to sleep V’ he said. 

Had he told me in the most distinct manner, “ Lie down 
and be killed !” such words could not have conveyed to my 
mind a clearer and more complete impression that such was 
his meaning, than those he had really pronounced. But it 
is time to put an end to this long death-struggle of reason. 
There is something both revolting and degrading to human 
nature in the sight of a darkened intellect wrestling with 
imaginary dangers; and I say designedly imaginary dangers; 
for I wish it to be well understood, that, excepting a certain 
grudge that Spalatro bore me, and which he did not seek to 


HALLUCINATIONS. 


313 


disguise, all the rest was merely the work of an over-excited 
brain, 

A faint streak of light on the horizon made the few stars 
visible look pale, and a white mist began to spread itself over 
the sea. It was no longer night, and yet it could scarcely be 
called day. Spalatro, leaning back over his neighbor’s shoulder, 
spoke in a very low voice to the lad seated behind them. The 
boy immediately put his hand in his pocket, and then handed 
something across to Spalatro. This something, I saw it clear 
ly defined against the sky, was an open knife ; a poor inno 
cent knife, meant probably to cut a slice of bread. This was 
my finishing stroke. To rise and leap into the water was the 
work of an instant. “ He is mad ! he is mad !” shouted Spa- 
latro. Ten seconds afterward the boat had reached me, and 
six strong arms lifted me again on board. 

Not a word was uttered. The two men and the boy stood 
motionless, with their eyes fixed on me. The captain, still 
holding me by the collar, by which h^ had helped to pull me 
out of the sea, bent over me, and gazed intently into my eyes, 
as if seeking from them an explanation of my strange conduct. 
After a minute of close scrutiny, he let go his hold of me, and 
clutching his hair with both hands, cried out in a tone ‘of de- 
spair, “ He is mad ! he is mad !” 

“ I am not quite mad yet,” I replied, endeavoring to appear 
calm, “but I shall very soon be so, unless you put me on shore.” 

“ Put you on shore !” repeated the captain ; “ tliat’s a good 
idea. Do you not know that I might as well throw you back 
into the sea 'i On shore ! why, it is certain death. Think 
of your poor mother. What would she say, after all the 
promises I made to take you safely to France? — Gracious 
God ! what is the matter with you ?” seeing that I little 
heeded his words; “what is the matter? — what are you afraid 
of here? — what does all this mean!” he asked in a state of 
great agitation. 

“ Do you take us for assassins ?” inquired Spalatro with a 
bitterness most alarming. How he had guessed what was 
passing within me, I know not ; but that he had done so, I was 
quite sure. 


LORENZO BKNONI. 


3M 


“ For mercy’s sake, do not take offence !” said I ; “ you may 
easily see that I am not quite myself, and I feel that if I do 
not quit this boat I shall go mad. Put me on shore — pray, 
put me on shore !” 

The contest lasted some time. I owe it in justice to the 
captain to say that he did and said everything humanly 
possible, to deter me from my rash purpose. Expostulations 
and entreaties were followed by appeals, not only to my 
reason, but to my softer and better feelings : he left nothing 
untried. More than once I felt touched ; more than once I 
wavered in my resolution ; but each time, by some inexpli- 
cable fatality, Spalatro’s voice would suddenly join in the 
conversation, and never failed to reawaken my misgivings. 
To such an extent did this shrill, yet drawling voice, in the 
intonations of which thrilled forth deep resentment, give the 
lie, or seem to do so, to the sense of the words he uttered, which 
were not only those of encouragement, but often of entreaty. 
At last I said — 

“ You have strength on your side : you can master me, and 
force me to remain, if you choose ; but I warn you of the con- 
sequences. I shall lose the little reason I have left, and you 
will have a madman to deal with. Put me on shore, and let 
me shift for myself.” I had no other argument to use, and I 
used no other, repeating the same w'ords over and over again. 
The very effort I was making to appear calm was fanning the 
volcano within me. I well remember being more than once 
within an ace of throwing myself again into the sea. 

The perplexed captain now got very angry. “ You shall 
go with us, whether you like it or not. I will have you bound 
hand and foot, and we’ll land you safely in France, in spite 
of yourself!” 

There must have come some terrific change over my features 
at these words, for the captain hastened to add, in quite an- 
other tone, “ No, no, don’t be afraid. ‘ I don’t mean what I 
say ; I won’t do it. You shall do anything you please.” 

“ Put me on shore, then.” 

“Very well; and your blood be on your own head. God 
is my witness, and these men too, that had'you been my own 


HORRIBLE ! 


345 


mother’^ son I could not have meant better by you, or done 
and said more to prevent your taking this wild step.” 

“ I know it, I know it !” was my reply. 

We were, as far as I could judge, about a mile from land. 
By this time the sun was high in the heavens, and shone 
brightly upon a little town most picturesquely perched on an 
eminence of the rock-bound coast. It was agreed that^I 
should be landed a short way below the town, and the boat 
Avas accordingly put about in that direction. In the mean- 
while, I took off my wet clothes, and put on the suit which I 
had most fortunately brought away with me. This operation 
was rather a slow one ; so that, when it was finished, we were 
within a couple of hundred yards of the shore. I raised my 
eyes, and lo ! my hair stood on end at the sight I beheld. I 
rose to my feet, and cried with outstretched hands, “ Don’t 
you see ? don’t you ? — they have hanged them !” 

In fact, I saw, as clearly as I see these characters I am 
now tracing on this paper, three gibbets standing on the shore, 
each supporting a blackened corpse, and at the foot of each, a 
woman kneeling in deep mourning garments. The men in the 
boat, ashy pale, watched all my movements in mute terror; 
their eyes w'andering from me to the shore, where, in all prob- 
ability, they perceived only some rocks, which my delirious 
imagination had distorted into the awful shapes I have de- 
scribed. As we neared the shore, the vision became less dis- 
tinct, and when we touched land, I saw in its place only a 
dark, confused mass. This may easily be accounted for. The 
objects which I had dressed with such terribly significant 
shapes were a little to our right, and at a certain distanee we 
got a front view of them ; but, as the boat approached, I could 
only see them sidewise; thence the gradual change in their 
appearance. 

I was just leaving the boat, when I heard Spalatro say, 
•‘Who is to pay us?” This reminded me of a bit of paper, 
which, when I reached my destination, I was to give the cap- 
tain, and upon the presenting of which he would receive the 
second half of the sum of money agreed on for my voyage. 
I looked for it, and in doing so found my passport. Lest, if 

1 r.# 


346 


LORENZO BENONI. 


I were taken, I should bring the friend who had procured it 
for me, in his own name, into trouble, I tore it into small 
pieces, and threw them into the sea. This done, I handed 
the paper I had first soughf for to the captain, and said, 
“ Here is the check for your money. Thank you. Good- 
by, and forgive me !” With these hurried words, I leaped on 
shore. 

Strange phenomena of that duality to which I have already 
alluded ! one moment previous, I was the sport of the most 
frantic delusion, and the next I was giving proofs of a pru- 
dence and foresight that would have done honor to the most 
cool-headed individual. Again, to such a degree did I distrust 
these men, that, in preference to remaining with them, I wit- 
tingly exposed myself to the greatest danger ; and yet, in the 
act of parting with them, I had the consciousness that I did 
them wrong, and entreated their forgiveness. 


OUT OF THE BOAT. 


347 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE FUGITIVE CONTINUED. 

It was with a feeling almost of joy that I leaped from the 
boat upon the sandy beach. The perpendicular line of cliffs 
on which runs the famous Cornice road, towered above me, 
and higher still rose mountain upon mountain. I ran like a 
wounded hart up the steep path cut on the face of the cliff. 
About half way up there was a hut, the door of which a man 
opened just as I was passing. I was burning with thirst, and 
stopped to ask him if he would give me some wine or a drink 
of milk. 

He stared at me for a moment, then hastily retreated, and 
shut the door in my face. I believe I was a frightful, haggard- 
looking creature. I made no further effort to get the refresh- 
ment I so much needed, but continued my hurried course; and 
when I reached the high road, turned mechanically to the 
right, in the direction of the town, which I saw not far off. 

I had not gone a hundred paces when I perceived a group 
of persons coming toward me, and an instinctive feeling 
prompted me to shun them. Looking about foi the means of 
doing so, I saw on my left a path which led up the mountain. 
I instantly took it, and with a feverish eagerness that rendered 
me insensible to its ruggedness — up, up I crept, till I had left 
far behind me all the villas which lie scattered over the sides 
of the olive-covered mountains of Liguria. 

Nor did I stop till I had reached the height where cultiva- 
tion ended. The sun was scorching ; I was dreadfully thirsty, 
and quite out of breath ; so I sat down and began to consider 


US 


LORENZO BKNONI. 


what would be my most prudent course. I felt the necessity 
of forming some plan, and, at the same time, my utter inability 
to do so. I was like a man in a dream, on whom the most 
instant danger presses, and who is yet incapable of making 
the slightest motion to avert it. The instinct of self-preserva- 
tion called loudly and imperiously on me to gather up the 
reins of reason, to bridle my thoughts ; but do what I would 
— and what a labor, what a struggle it was — I could not 
manage it. Words can not give an idea of the gloomy despair 
which the knowledge of my helplessness brought with it. Had 
a carabineer appeared at that moment, and seized me by the 
collar, I could have thanked him for putting an end to my 
mental agony. 

I was startled from this mood by the barking of dogs below 
me. There was in a corner of my brain an indistinct notion 
of having read or heard that it was the practice in the south 
of France to hunt men with dogs. And though I knew very 
well that I was not in France, it immediately struck my fancy 
that I had been seen and recognised, and that the dogs were 
out to track me. Springing to my feet, I mshed on as chance 
directed, like a hunted wild beast, till I came to the brink of 
a deep quarry, that stopped my onward course. “Would it 
not be as well to throw myself over, head foremost, and so 
make an end to earthly troubles?” The sight of the deep 
gulf had a fascination for me, — there would be rest at the 
bottom! “And thy mother!” I looked round to see who 
had spoken ; there was no one of course. The filial recollec- 
tion, however, had come in time to save me, and I now recoiled 
with horror from the edge of the precipice. 

The barking had ceased. Let me try to sleep ; it will do 
me good. I doubled up my coat to seiwe as a pillow, and laid 
myself down. For some time I remained quite still, with my 
eyes closed, without moving hand or foot, but it would not do. 
Sleep would not answer my call. The restless activity of my 
mind overpowered even the weariness of my body, and there 
was a sound of rushing waters in my ears, which banished 
sleep. My thirst also had by this time become unbearable, 
and I ventured down from the height to which I had climbed, 


A DREAM. 


349 


to the lower and more cultivated belt of the mountain, in 
search of vmter. 

Luckily it was not long before I lighted on a spring. I drank 
eagerly, and washed my liands and face with delight, and then 
once more lay down under a tree close by, to rest, if not to 
sleep. Before me sparkled the immense expanse of the Medi- 
terranean, of a blue deeper and brighter than the sky that 
shone above it. There I lay — how long I know not, but 
certainly for hours. I did not sleep that I remember, but I 
fell into a state between sleeping and waking, during which I 
had a dream, or rather another vision. 

To this day I am ignorant if there really were an island in 
the sea before me. I either saw, or dreamed I saw, that there 
was one, and as clearly did I see the Emperor Napoleon lying 
there dead, but dressed as he is always represented, and with 
a cocked hat and boots. I knew not why I should dream or 
have visionsof Napoleon, with whom I had never held the slight- 
est communication, and whom I had never even seen. There 
he lay, however, distinctly before me. All his relatives and 
marshals, as we see them in engravings, were there, walking 
in procession, each as he passed bowing reverently to the 
august dead, and then all crowding round him with acts of 
adoration. 

What roused me from this dream I can not tell. This I know, 
I went again to the spring, and once more washed my face 
and hands; and then I began to wander about without any 
plan. In course of time I got to a little promontory, whence 
I discovered the town below, not far ofiP. The sight made 
me think of some friends I had there, on whose help and 
kindness I knew I might depend. Suppose I ventured down 
and tried to find them out. I instantly resolved to make the 
experiment. 

The mountain was crossed in almost every direction by paths 
regularly cut, and by one of these I hoped to reach the town 
without being obliged to go on the high road. As I walked 
along, my attention was caught by a small house, or rather cot- 
tage, whose white walls, green jalousies, and the snowy curtains 
peeping forth, gave it an air of comfort quite captivating to a 


350 


LORENZO BENONI. 


weary wanderer, who knew not where to look for food or 
shelter ; and it was with reluctant steps, and with more than 
one sigh, that I left it behind. 

The path I was in followed a gradual slope, and at last I 
perceived, to my great mortification, that it led into the high- 
way, which, to reach the town, I must walk along for some 
considerable distance ; a necessity I greatly regretted, but I 
knew not how to avoid it. As I emerged therefore into the 
road, I put on the most unconcerned air I could assume, and 
walked forward leisurely ; but I very soon began to entertain 
serious misgivings as to the possibility of carrying through my 
project safely. 

In fact, I observed that the few persons I met eyed me with 
surprise and attention ; from which I concluded that there was 
something in my appearance calculated to excite suspicion. 

The feeling of discomfort arising from this discovery in- 
creased immeasurably when I was within view of the town 
gates, and perceived two carabineers standing there like sen- 
tinels. The sight of their odious uniform cut short all hesita- 
tion, and back I turned instantly. In a little town, where 
everybody knows everybody, my being a stranger would have 
been found out immediately, and, joined to the evident fact of 
my rather suspicious appearance, might have led not only to 
the asking of very ticklish questions, but to the discovery of 
who I actually was. 

So by the same path by which I had come down the moun- 
tain, I returned — like the king of France and his renowned 
army — and began my wanderings without end or aim, till I 
found myself once more in the neighborhood of the dear little 
cottage with the green shutters, which had so taken my fancy. 
With what eager eyes did I look at it ! What a craving desire 
I felt to lay my head under the shadow of its roof! There 
was a magnificent fig-tree close by, and as the day was now on 
the w ane, I made up my mind to lie down under its shade, and 
spend the night there as best I could. 

“ If I can only get some sleep,” thought I, “ my head will 
be clearer to-morrow, and then I shall be able to think of some 
practicable means of getting out of this scrape. Thereupon I 


HOST AND HOSTRSS. 


351 


stretched myself on the ground, and settled myself in an atti- 
tude of repose, though the cravings of hunger which I now felt 
gave me little prospect of a tolerable night. 

“ What are you doing here V’ said a gruff voice on a sudden, 
close to my ear. Opening my eyes, I saw a countryman 
standing by me, and looking hard at me. I did not rise to 
my feet, but sat up very quietly, so as not to scare him or make 
him afraid of me ; and taking my purse out of my pocket, so 
that he should not take me for a common vagrant, I held it up 
before him, and said, “ I have lost my way, good man ; I am 
very tired, and I do not wish to go all the way to the town ; 
if you will give me something to eat and drink, and a place 
to lie down in till the morning, you shall have some of this 
money.” 

The man looked half stupid, half unwilling ; nevertheless, 
tempted by the sight of the gold, he bade me follow him, and 
led the way to the captivating cottage that stood close by. 
How lucky and how odd, thought I, that I should find a 
resting-place in the very house which I have all day been look- 
ing upon with such longing, and within whose walls I have so 
yearned to be. 

However, I had been reckoning without my host in every 
sense of the word ; for, when we got to the door, he bade me 
stop and sit down on the stone bench at the side of it, while 
he went to fetch me something to eat. He very soon returned 
with some bread and a basket of cherries. I was rather dis- 
appointed, and asked if he had nothing more substantial to 
give me. He shook his head, without taking the trouble to 
speak ; so, as I was faint for want of food, I was fain to be 
thankful even for this small supply. 

While I was still eating, a woman came up to us, younger 
and better looking than the man. She was fresh-colored and 
smiling, and if not handsome, had a good-natured, intelligent 
look, that made up for the absence of actual beauty ; whereas 
the man, who, as I quickly discovered, was her husband, was 
one of those unhappily-constituted beings who seem as if they 
could neither be good nor bad. The woman at first looked 
surprised ; but v/hen she heard how it was that I happened to 


352 


LORENZO BENONI. 


be there, the surprise turned to anger at the way her husband 
had treated me. Women are gifted with finer and nicer per- 
ceptions than men : dusty and travel-worn as I was, this peas- 
ant-woman at once guessed my social position ; for she said, 
with no little asperity, to her stolid helpmate, “ Is this the 
way you treat a gentleman Then turning to me, she begged 
me to go in and rest in the house. The room into which she 
ushered me was on the ground-floor, small and scantily fur- 
nished, but neatly kept. The kind hostess gave me the largest 
and most comfortable chair, and began at once to busy herself 
in the preparation of a repast somewhat more in accordance 
with my wants. 

She brought me, with a good-will that had something invig- 
orating in itself, some cold meat, and very tolerable wine, 
though the man had told me there was none ; and then, after 
asking me if I would like to remain during the night, she be- 
gan to arrange a bed, for wi.idt no one could doubt I had 
great need. 

Refreshed and strengthened by the wine and food I had 
taken, comforted by feeling myself once more under shelter 
of a roof, and cheered by the hearty kindness of my good 
hostess, the excitement of my mind began to subside, and I felt 
able to consider with comparative coolness what I ought to do. 

Was it not possible, through this kind-hearted, active wo- 
man, to open some communication with either of the two sure 
friends I had in Ventimiglia If I should succeed in this, 
it might prove my salvation. Pursuant to this plan, with 
great caution I made some inquiries about different persons in 
the town, whom I knew only by name, mentioning in a casual 
manner that I had some friends there. From one thing to an- 
other I at last got courage enough to put the direct question — 

“ Do you know Mr. Botta ?” He was one of the two on 
wTose aid I knew I could reckon. 

“ Oh, to be sure,” replied the man, “ but it is long since Mr. 
Botta left this ; he has been settled at Nice for some time.” 
This answer deprived me of the half of my little capital of 
hope. It was then with a throbbing heart and faltering voice 
that I risked the other half. 


TVONDEKFUL COINCIDENCE. 


353 


“And can you tell me anything of Doctor Palli 

“Per bacco !” replied the woman with a merry laugh — 
“know Doctor Palli? Why, you are in his house at this mo- 
ment !” 

I fairly started up from my chair. Here was indeed a piece 
of unexpected luck : almost within my reach the very man I 
wanted — the man to communicate with whom I would have 
willingly given all I was worth in the world at that time ! 
However, I controlled my joy as well as I could, and turning 
to the man, said : “ Ah ! indeed, that is lucky, for Doctor Palli 
is one of my most intimate friends, and I am extremely anx- 
ious to see him with as little delay as possible. Can you 
carry a note to him this evening V’ The man having willingly 
agreed to do so, I tore a leaf out of my pocket-book, and wrote 
a few guarded words, which I delivered to my messenger, and, 
with a feeling of relief from a heavy burden, saw him hasten 
on his errand. 

Meanwhile the good woman continued her preparations. 
There was evidently but one bed in the little household, and 
this she did not hesitate for a moment to prepare for me, only 
removing one of the mattresses for her own use. 

“ She was sorry,” she said, “ that the small ground-floor 
which she and her husband occupied could not afford me bet- 
ter accommodation. The two upper stories would certainly 
answer much better, but they were never used without express 
orders from her landlord, for the use of whose family they 
were kept.” 

I thanked my kind hostess warmly for her attention, pro- 
testing that I needed and wished for nothing better than what 
she offered with such cordiality. 

I was most eager to lay my head once more on a pillow, and 
awaited the return of the man with great impatience. At 
length he came back, and assured me that he had placed my 
note in Doctor Palli’s own hands. I was in the very act of 
going to bed, when a well-known voice sounded in my ear ; 
and, turning, I found myself in !he arms of my friend. 


364 


LORENZO BENONI. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

% 

'5;he fugitive — continued. 

The sight of a familiar face, the sound of a familiar voice, 
are cordials which a man situated as I then was can thoroughly 
appreciate. The first thing the doctor said was rather disap- 
pointing, however, to one whose most earnest desire was to be 
in bed. The house I was in, according to the doctor, was not 
a safe place for me. The fact of a stranger having landed 
from a boat in the morning, and having afterward been seen 
on the mountain, was already talked of in the town, and it 
was not possible that what everybody knew, the police alone 
should be ignorant of. Now should any search be made, it 
would of course be in the neighborhood of where the stranger 
had been seen. 

“ Don’t be alarmed,” said the doctor kindly, mistaking for 
uneasiness the vexation that appeared on my countenance ; 
“ we will get you out of this scrape ; but you must have pa- 
tience, and submit to the guidance of others.” 

I offered no remark — what could I say ? — and made myself 
ready to go. 

My poor landlady, who found that all her benevolent bustle 
and hospitable preparations were to be thrown away, looked 
ready to cry. I did not offer her any money. I was con- 
vinced that all she had done had been from real benevolence 
and good feeling ; and actions taking their rise from such mo- 
tives are beyond payment. 

As I shook her rough hanJ most cordially, I hope I made 
her feel that I was really grateful ; I then held out my hand 
to her husband, leaving within his palm a small sum to which 


MY NEW KEFUGE. 


355 


I knew lie would have no objection, at the same time that it 
was an acknowledgment of his services. 

Outside the door we found several persons waiting, who fell 
into the rear as we turned our backs on what I had looked 
upon as a haven of rest and security. The night was dark, 
the sky was overcast, and I was so sleepy that I could distin- 
guish but little of the road we were traversing : all I can rec- 
ollect is, that we skirted the hill in the direction of the town, 
which, however, we avoided entering; and that after walking 
some time we came to a round tower, which I found was for 
the present to be my hiding-place. The doctor introduced me 
to a man he called Pietro, who had the appearance of a laborer, 
and who was to have charge of me. I then received several 
instructions : among others, I was charged only to open my 
door to one peculiar knock, which the doctor repeated over 
and over again ; and when he had satisfied himself that I could 
make no mistake, we entered the tower. 

The room I was to occupy, and which took up all the 
ground-floor of my new abode, contained no other furniture 
than a bed, a table, and a few chairs. Here Doctor Palli, whom 
I had briefly informed as we went along, of the circumstances 
connected with my landing in this neighborhood, not without 
expressing strong doubts as to there being any foundation for 
my fears, felt my pulse, bade me go to bed, and then bled me 
freely. Thereupon he wished me “ Good-night.” I fell asleep 
at once, and did not awake till the sun was high above the 
horizon. I was myself again — calm, almost cheerful, though 
rather weak. , 

The events of the last two days were like a dream ; yet 
what I could distinguish through the mist in which they were 
enveloped, was sufficient to fill me with shame and remorse — 
shame at the deplorable part I had involuntarily, enacted ; 
remorse at the unworthy manner in which I had treated the 
captain and his crew. But what could I do now ? Nothing, 
except seize the first opportunity to clear them of any imputa- 
tion, and to manage that they should one day hear of my re- 
gret ; and this was done, so soon as in my power. 

After breakfast, to while away the tedium of the long hours 


356 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


— for I had neither hook nor pen and ink — -I began to exam* 
ine my new abode. The room in which I had passed the 
night was as dull as a convent-cell ; it had no other light, so 
far as I can remember, but that which it received from the 
window of a small, winding staircase, that led to an upper 
room, exactly similar to the one below in point of size and 
furniture, except that there was no bed in it, but with the in- 
calculable advantage — to a poor prisoner — of a window, com- 
manding a fine view of the surrounding country. Here I spent 
hour after hour ; the only interruption to my solitary reflec- 
tions being breakfast and dinner. I did not see the person 
who brought my provisions ; they were always given to Pietro, 
the man I had seen on the*night of my arrival. 

In the evening the doctor came to see me, but with the 
greatest precaution. Like sleuth-hounds, the police scented 
their victim in the air : it was most material to my safety that 
they should not be roused to the chase. 

Two days passed in this alternation of speculation and alarm. 
Situated as I was, there could be nothing more trying than 
inaction. In a struggle, there is vitality and hope; but it is 
killing to sit day after day watching the rising and the setting 
of the sun ; to feel the blood stagnating in your veins, without 
being able to move hand or foot to help yourself, bound down 
by the iron chain of circumstance. An incident, however, 
vdiicli I must not omit, soon happened, and broke the monot- 
ony of the life I was leading in a manner as abrupt as it was 
disagreeable. 

On the forenoon of the third day, I had gone as usual to the 
upper room, and taken my accustomed place opposite but at a 
certain distance from the window, so that I could enjoy look- 
ing out on the fine scenery without myself being seen from out 
of doors. The hours went slowly by ; the time for dinner 
came, but none appeared. I waited one hour, then another, 
when I did not doubt that the doctor had found some cause of 
alarm which had prevented his sending my provisions as usual. 
I knew afterward that I was mistaken in this supposition : 
some accident — I forgot what — had happened to the bearer. 
I therefore returned to my bedroom, and threw myself on tho 


WHAT NEXT ? 357 

s 

bed, ill the hope of sleeping off my hunger. In fact, I did fall 
into a light slumber, out of which I was startled by a noise 
like the roar of a cannon, and in an instant the room was full 
of dust, so that I was almost smothered. I was wondering 
what it could be, when Pietro, who had also heard the noise, 
came in to see what was the matter ; and on our going to the 
upper room, we found that the ceiling had partially fallen, ex- 
actly over the spot in which I always sat at dinner. A narroV 
escape it was. Had my dinner come at the usual hour, I must 
have been either killed or maimed for life. 

The following morning I was awakened by Pietro rapping 
violently. I leaped out of bed, and unbolted the door. He 
came in, in great alarm. “ The carabineers ! the carabineers !” 
began he, in a loud quaking whisper ; and “ the carabineers” 
were the only words I could make out of what he said. With- 
out seeking any further explanation, I dressed myself hur- 
riedly, and made for the door, where Pietro pointed out a 
vine-covered wall, and a hedge, on the other side of which, he 
muttered rather than said, I should find a person waiting, in 
whose hands I must place myself. There was, of course, 
neither time nor room for discussion or hesitation. I ran to 
the hedge, scrambled over it, and, sure enough, found a man 
•waiting for me. 

This man, whom we shall call Ercole, was a person that would, 
have been remarkable in any country. He was an extremely 
well-proportioned man, though much above the ordinary 
height ; and the expression of his face, denoting almost brutal 
energy of will, con-esponded well with the vigor and activity 
of his body. He somewhat allayed the alarm which my 
guardian Pietro had excited. 

Doctor Palli, he told me, had been summoned to the presence 
of the commandant of the town. Greatly alarmed at this 
summons, he had, previous to obeying it, sent for Ercole, and 
intrusted to him the care of removing me from what could no 
longer be considered a place of safety, to one more secure. 
Here Ercole stopped, and drew my attention to a couple of 
carabineers, who were going up a hill opposite to where we 


858 


LORENZO BENONI. 


stood. “ Tlie police are evidently on tlie look-out,” he said, 
“ for they are quite off the usual heat.” 

Then turning to me, he continued: “Do not he alarmed, sir. 
I will bring you through safe enough ; only you must trust me, 
and do whatever I say, however odd it may seem.” 

In the plight in which I was, I must perforce trust him, or 
indeed the first comer who promised me fairly. He moved on, 
and I followed. It appeared to me, ignorant as I was of the 
outskirts of Ventimiglia, that we kept wandering backward 
and forward, up ^nd down the hill, close to the town. At 
length, after what seemed to me hours, we suddenly came to a 
sheltered little valley, apparently out of all risk of intruding 
carabineers. Here, Ercole told me, I must submit to lie con- 
cealed till dusk, for there really would be imminent danger 
should I be seen near any high road, dressed as I was. It 
may be remembered, that before quitting the boat I had 
thrown off the sailor’s disguise, and resumed my customary 
dress. 

Submission was the order of the day. I therefore lay down 
on the ground, as my guide directed, and suffered myself to be 
carefully covered with grass, brushwood, and dead leaves — 
in short, with anything that came to hand. This done, Ercole 
desired me, happen what might, not to stir, and left me in a 
very novel, and not very agreeable or heroic situation; nor 
was it one very easy to be long maintained. 

At first I managed pretty well ; but judge of my horror 
when two men came to hoe a piece of ground close by. I 
dare*d not make the slightest motion, and scarcely ventured to 
draw my breath, for fear of attracting attention. The sound 
of their hoes seemed to come nearer to me. Every minute I 
dreaded some unlucky stroke which should betray me to their 
wondering eyes. My body was literally on the rack, and I 
may say I was scarcely more at ease in mind. The summons 
received by Dr. Palli, and its possible consequences, constantly 
and exclusively occupied my thoughts. The precariousness 
of my own situation, and anxiety for my 2)ersoiial safety, 
dwindled into nothing before the idea of the trouble and 
danger I had possibly brought on my friend. 


CAECEEK DUEO A SEAECE. 


369 


This sort of carcere duro lasted from mid-day to sunset. At 
length I had the happiness of hearing the retreating steps of 
the two men, who had been working, as it were, all round me ; 
but it was some time before I could muster courage to peep 
out of my hiding-place. It was nearly dusk, and presently 
Ercole’s large form reappeared. 

“ 'VYhatof the doctor?” said I eagerly; “is he safe?” 

“ The doctor is safe at home,” was the reply. 

AVhat a relief it was to hear such blessed words ; and what a 
relief also to stretch my cramped limbs ! Ercole added, that 
the interview between the doctor and the commandant had 
gone ofP pretty well. The circumstance of a mysterious 
stranger, who had landed some days ago, having been seen 
wandering in the vicinity of Dr. Palli’s cottage, had led the 
police, who could hear nothing of the new arrival in the town, 
to suspect that he might have found a refuge there. There 
seemed to be no shadow of doubt in the minds of the author- 
ities, that the stranger, whoever he might be, was a suspicious 
character, and ought to be looked after. The matter had 
been referred to the commandant, before the police took the 
rather adventurous step of ordering a search to be made in 
the house of so respectable and influential a person as Doctor 
Palli, who had never hitherto incurred even a shadow of 
suspicion. 

As a preliminary measure, the commandant had sent for Dr. 
Palli, and warned him that it was his duty to make it known 
if there were any stranger at present within his premises. 
The doctor, of course, stoutly denied the fact of any one 
having found shelter or concealment in his cottage; upon 
which he was allowed to retire. On the morrow, however, 
the suspected house was searched from top to bottom, from 
cellar to attic. 

Ercole had brought with him a basket containing cold meat, 
bread, and a bottle of wine ; and it. was well, for I was almost 
starving. The hasty meal over, he said that now I could 
accompany him to where he was going without much risk. 
A long walk round the outside of the town brought us to 
what I knew afterward to be the abode of my new protector. 


LORENZO BP:N0NI. 


3GU 

This was a small house close to the sea ; the back-door, indeed, 
opened on the beach. He led me to a room on the first story 
which he told me was for the present appropriated to me. 
I received pretty nearly the same instructions from him as I 
had done from the doctor on the night I went to the round 
tower. I was* to open the door only at a particular signal. 
In case of any pressing danger occurring when he might be 
absent, he taught me the management of a very simple, but 
clever enough mechanical contrivance, by which I could effect 
my escape from the window, without the risk of breaking my 
neck. This contrivance was a large shutter, which by means 
of strong and specially adapted hinges, fell downward from 
the side of the window, forming a slanting platform by which 
a person could slide without difficulty to the ground. Ercole 
added, “ In case of a surprise do not attempt to escape by flight 
— it would be useless — but make for the trees you see yonder,” 
pointing to some not far off; “ climb up any one of them, and 
remain there quietly : whenever I find you missing I shall 
seek you there, and provide for your safety.” 

The prospect of having to slide from a window, and then 
to climb up a tree was not very reassuring, certainly ; but 
the precautions against danger, and the earnest tone in which 
the instructions were spoken, gave me a strong impression of 
the man’s sincerity and good will. In the days of which I am 
writing, it must be remembered how a despotic government, 
wielded by the hands of prejudiced men, trembling for their 
privileges, had demoralized all classes, and that I had some 
cause to thank God, as I did, that I had to do with a person 
of whose good faith and deliberate purpose to save me I could 
not doubt. 

I must now say a few words of the captain. So soon as I 
had left the boat he set out on his return to Genoa, where he 
at once went to my family, not a little mortified and distressed 
at the story he had to relate. His report was, that I had gone 
mad, and probably by the time he was speaking had either 
fallen a victim to my own frenzy, or been laid hold of by the 
police. The consternation of the whole family, the anguish 
and despair of my mother, may easily be conceived. 


LEAVE-TAKING. 


361 


My youngest brother, however, having procured another 
passport instead of the one the captain told him I had 
torn to pieces, immediately set out for the town near which I 
had landed, to try and find out what had become of me, and 
to see if there was still a possibility of doing me any good. 
On his way he paid a visit to my uncle the canon, whose res- 
idence was only a few hours distant from Ventimiglia, in- 
tending to make the old man accompany him thither. What 
was my brother’s surprise and gratification when he found 
that our uncle had already been made fully acquainted, by 
my friend Dr. Palli, with all the circumstances that had 
taken place since I left the captain. What a relief to hear 
that I was free-*— that I was sane, and in comparative safety! 
My brother’s journey to Ventimiglia seeming now to be 
useless, he readily acquiesced in Dr. Palli’s recommendation 
that as little stir as possible should be made about me, and 
that any meeting between us had better be avoided ; he 
therefore contented himself with remaining at my uncle’s, to 
be on the spot if required. A sure messenger was despatched 
to Dr. Palli with the fresh passport, which eventually reached 
me through Ercole. 

For the second time, with the help of the doctor, means 
were arranged for my escape to France. Ercole hired a boat, 
and two men in whom he said we might have perfect confi- 
dence ; but the police keeping a stricter watch than ever on 
all arrivals and departures, it was decided that I should go on 
foot to Mentone, and get on board the boat there. Mentone 
is one of the three towns of the principality of Monaco, a Lil- 
liputian independent state, set, as it is, like a jewel in the 
Sardinian dominions. 

On the evening of the day previous to the one fixed for my 
second departure from my native country. Dr. Palli came to 
wish me good-by. I had thus an opportunity of thanking him 
to my heart’s content, and of giving him the sum he had 
agreed to pay the men hired for tliis occasion, when they 
should return with a certificate of my being in safety. It 
was well we met that evening, and that I had an opportunity 
of expressing my gratitude to one who had been as a second 

16 


362 


LORENZO BENONL 


providence to me, for I never saw him again. Peace be to his 
memory ! 

Everything was ready, the men and boat were waiting at 
Mentone, and by the high road it would take me only an 
hour or so to join them ; but we had forgotten to take wind 
and weather into calculation ; and as ill-luck would have it, a 
gale arose, and blew furiously without intermission, for three 
entire days. On the fourth morning it abated, and Ercole told 
me he thought we might depart. 

To avoid any danger which a chance rencontre might occa- 
sion if I accompanied him dressed as a gentleman, he brought 
me a very old straw hat, a fustian jacket, and a pair of trousers 
originally white, but now of a nondescript color, and pieced 
and patched in every direction. I was to pass for his Tiephew, 
going with him to Nice to buy young olive plants, which 
would be a plausible reason for our being on the mountain ; 
for, in his great prudence, Ercole had planned that we should 
quit the highway as soon as possible, for a cross-cut, longer 
than the public road, but more eligible for me. We set out 
about mid-day, and after a fatiguing walk of nine hours we 
reached Mentone. Although it was evening we had still some 
daylight. Ercole bade me wait in a copse of young olive- 
trees near the beach, and once more hiding me under some 
brushwood, he went by himself to reconnoitre, and to see if 
all was in readiness. 

I had not long to wait this time, for he returned almost 
instantly to say that all was safe, and the men and the boat 
waiting a few yards off. We ran down to the beach, and in 
a few minutes I was on board. I had not done with acci- 
dents and omens, however ; for in my haste my foot slipped, 
and stumbling forward I was so unlucky as to break a demi- 
john of wine, which the men liad placed in the boat for their 
own use. A second time, in the very moment of embarkation, 
these words were addressed to me, “ A bad omen, sir !” — “ On 
the contrary,” said the other man, “ they say in these parts 
that to spill wine is a sign of good luck.” 

I was very much annoyed at this accident, because the loss 
of the wine could not at the moment be repaired, and I knew 


EMBARKATION. 


363 


the men would feel the want of it during the several hours 
they had to row. There was no help for it, however, as time 
pressed, and Ercole insisted on the necessity of no further de- 
lay. I took leave of this man, who though a perfect stranger 
to me and mine, had shown me the unwearied attention and 
devotion of a friend. My heart swelled as I pressed his hard 
hand within my own, leaving in it a token, not of my feelings, 
nor yet as meant to repay him for services which money alone 
can neither purchase nor remunerate, but to indemnify him, as 
he was a man who had to work for daily bread, for his loss of 
time on my account. 

In this slight sketch of one of the most trying episodes of 
my life, I can not afford to do more than touch lightly on the 
characters of the several persons with whom I came in contact. 
There is certainly much of cold-heartedness, of want of good 
faith, of selfishness, in the world. Thank God, there is, how- 
ever, no lack of warm and generous hearts to cheer our many 
hours of son’ow, and to help us in our difficulties. Such at 
least has been my experience, and I tell it with a grateful 
heart 


364 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE FUGITIVE CONTINUED. 

The night was beautiful ; one of those nights in which 
everything is in repose, when the splendors of the sky are 
veiled by soft fleecy clouds, when from the delicate crescent 
of the new-born moon there descends on the wide ocean a 
thin line of glittering light, looking like a path to a brighter 
world. 

“ Fine weather!” said I, addressing the man who was near- 
est to me. 

“ Sorry to say it won’t last,” answered he ; “ do you see 
that long white line yonder like the hack-hone of a fish ? We 
shall have more wind than we shall like very soon.” 

The regular sound of the oars as they dipped in the water 
tuned my thoughts, as it were, and they took a gentler and less 
depressing bent than might have been expected at this mo- 
ment, when I was consummating my farewell to my native 
land. 

We had been gliding on in silence for two hours or more, 
when the prophecy of the boatman seemed about to be verified. 
Dark threatening clouds had gathered by this time, and there 
were occasional fierce gusts of wind. The sea, too, began to 
froth and foam. Another hour had passed before the man 
opposite to me broke the long silence. 

“We have arrived at last,” said he. 

“ Have we ?” exclaimed I in some surprise. 

“ Thank God, we have 1” resumed he, pointing out to me, a 
short distance ahead of us, a river flowing into the sea. 


THE VAR. 365 

“Don’t you see it, sir? That is the Var, and you are now 
in safety.” 

I strained my eyes to penetrate the darkness. I did sec 
the river distinctly. We passed the mouth of it; the strong 
current rendered it difficult to land there. But a few strokes 
more, and they ran the boat upon the shore. 

My voyage, then, was really over ; I was safe : and now I 
had only to settle with the boatmen, and go as fast as I could 
to Antibes. No further concealment was necessary — I might 
once more walk erect, choose my own path, and resume my 
own name. As I was thinking of all this, I gave the men a 
paper signed by me, declaring that they had fulfilled their 
engagement, and on the presentation of which they would be 
paid the sum stipulated for their services. I had already one 
foot on land, and one still in the boat, when I suddenly said 
with a feeling of new-born doubt — 

“Are you quite sure that this is French ground?” 

“Would to God,” replied the man who had not yet spoken, 
pointing to the sky now ominously overcast, and then to the 
swelling sea, “ Would to God that we were as safe at home, as 
it is true that you are on Fiench ground!” 

“ Which way must I go ?” I asked, now quite reassured. 

“ After leaving the beach,” said the same man, “ turn to 
your left hand, and go straight on till you come to a clump of 
olive-trees ; the high road to Antibes is close by.” 

I took a piece of gold out of my purse, and gave it to him, 
saying, “ God bless you, and grant you a safe voyage. When 
you reach home drink to my health and safety.” I turned away 
with my heart quite full ; they were my countrymen : hence 
forth I should be among strangers. 

What the hour was I can not say with certainty. Perhaps 
twelve o’clock, or a little later. All around was dark and 
dismal, and the rays of the fast sinking moon were so faint, 
that they only rendered darkness visible. I walked on for 
some time, anxiously looking for the tuft of olive-trees ; and 
thinking I had at last descried them, I hastily made my way 
thither. It was not without some astonishment I remarked, 
thatthe ground was so wet that I sank over my shoes at every 


366 


LORENZO BENONI. 


step. When I reached the trees, I found that they were 
tamarisks, and not olives. In another moment the sea was 
before me, close to me. I stopped, quite dumbfoundered. 
“How was this?” I must have kept too much to the left. 
Retreating from the sea in an oblique direction, I pushed on to 
the right, and in a few seconds came to the river. How very 
strange that I should come to the river, which I had certainly 
just left behind me ! 

There was but one explanation possible, and in spite of the 
evidence of my senses, I satisfied myself with it. In all this 
turning and re-turning, thought I, I must have entirely deviated 
from the course pointed out to me, and have come back una- 
wares to the very spot from which I started. If now I turn 
my back to the river, and walk on in a diagonal line, I must 
naturally be going toward France. I did so ; but lo ! in a 
few minutes, there was the river again in front of me. “ Good 
God ! am I the sport of a delusion ? There are then two rivers 
here !” And in a state of mind bordering on distraction, I ran 
to the right, and then to the left, and up and down, pacing 
twenty times over every inch of ground in every direction. 
Water, water — everywhere water! Doubt was no longer 
possible. “ The false ruffians ! how they have betrayed me 1” 

A few hundred paces from the sea the Var divides itself, and 
forms a small island, as far as I can remember, in the shape 
of an acute triangle, of which the sea is the basis, and the two 
branches of the river the two sides. On this piece of land I 
was, encompassed by water alone, and helpless enough, God 
knows. A ray of hope shot suddenly across my mind, — there 
must be a bridge or ferry ; the boatmen had possibly forgotten 
to tell me of it, and in my hurry and confusion I had over- 
looked it. But a most minute search from the sea up to the 
very junction of the two branches of the river soon convinced 
me that there was at least no bridge. Far off, however, close 
to the opposite shore, I saw something black moving on the 
water. My heart gave a bound, “Hallo! boat here!” No 
answer broke the silence. I then strained my eyes to make 
out what it really was that I saw moving, and ended by dis- 
covering that what I had takert for a boat was nothing more 


TKEACHERV A PLUNGE. 


367 


tlian the reflection in the river of a tree on the opposite bank, 
the branches of which the wind was waving to and fro. There 
was neither bridge nor ferry, and before me a foaming river. 
The naked reality stared me in the face ! 

Ah ! how heartless!}’’ had these men deceived me ! Could 
it have been through ignorance of the locality ] It was im- 
possible to believe this of men whose trade, as smugglers, 
brought them constantly to this part of the coast, and to whom, 
consequently, every inch of it must be familiar. No, they had 
acted thus with the full consciousness of what they were 
doing; these heartless men, in order to hasten by half an 
hour their return to their homes, had not hesitated to place 
the life of one of their fellow-creatures in fearful jeopardy. 

This was a terrible moment. “ Those who do injury to 
others,” says Manzoni somewhere, “ are not only accountable 
for the actual evil they inflict, but also for the perversion of 
feeling which they give rise to in their victims.” I experienced 
the truth of the remark on this occasion, as I felt nil the worst 
passions of human nature kindling within my breast : floods 
of bitter hatred gushed into my heart; wild curses and impre- 
cations rose to my lips ; I turned round and round in my 
strange prison, like a wild beast in its cage, and addressed the 
traitors as if they had been present. How well they had 
earned the blessing I had bestowed upon them ! and I laughed 
aloud, and my laugh sounded strange and fearful in my own 
ears. The thoughts I thought, the words I spoke, are better 
left untold. Suffice it to say, that I hated and despised myself 
as belonging to the same race with such vile wretches. 

To wait patiently till morning in this state of restlessness, 
between life and death, became quite impossible. Come what 
would of it, I must get out of this suspense ; I must try to 
cross the river. Should I perish in the attempt — well, I 
should at least have done with suffering. Without further con- 
sideration, I plunged at once into the boiling torrent. The 
current was excessively strong, and in spite of all my efforts, 
when at a very short distance from the bank, I felt I was 
about to lose my footing. The love of life, which clings to 
men even under the most desperate suffering, spoke aloud in 


368 


LOKENZO BENONI. 


that moment, and suggested that I was setting my life oi a 
desperate cast, and that this was not the moment, Avhen ull 
around lay shrouded in darkness, to attempt to pass such a 
river. I therefore, not without difficulty, made my way back 
to the bank, and there sat down to await the dawn of day. 
My bath, however — the water being extremely cold — acted 
beneficially on mind and body, and restored my self-possession. 

My thoughts in that dismal hour were solemn, such as be- 
came a man on the brink of the grave. I thought earnestly 
of all those I had loved so dearly ; I evoked their forms, I 
addressed to them all a silent and tender farewell. I strove to 
bring myself into the frame of mind appropriate to my situation, 
that is to say, I strove, as a dying man can do, to feel at peace 
with all the world — to be at peace* with God! I tried to 
forgive even those who had, so entirely without any justifiable 
motive, condemned me to this agony, and I honestly believe 
that I did pardon them. * 

Such was the mood in which I passed the remainder of the 
night ; the wind blew high, and there were showers of rain, 
which, wet as I was already high above the knees, chilled me 
to death. From time to time a great sea-gull would sail so 
closely over my head as to fan my hair with its heavy wings, 
while it uttered a savage cry, as if in wonder or anger at the 
creature who had thus invaded its peculiar domain. 

Luckily I had some cigars with me, which, being in a breast 
pocket, had escaped the water ; and I smoked almost inces- 
santly. No one but a hardened habitual smoker can under- 
stand the comfort which this occupation gave me. With the 
cigar I felt less alone in that lugubrious place ; it warmed me, 
and was — I may as well say it — like a friend. By degrees, 
the deep dark loneliness began to give way before the misty gray 
which precedes the earliest dawn ; the gray mist in its turn 
faded away, and a long line of yellowish white marked out 
the horizon to the eastward. A chilly breeze fluttered the 
leaves of the trees ; the twittering of the birds, and the busy 
hum of insects — so grateful to the ear in that solitude — gave 
token that all nature was awaking to hail the coming of the 
new-born day. 


REVIVING SPIRITS. 


369 


Who has not experienced how the gloom that has weighed 
heavily on us, and colored all our meditations during the night, 
gradually disappears before the light of day, and how, with 
the splendors of the rising sun, the early song of birds, the 
bracing morning breeze, there is born within us a new spirit of 
hope and love, and of energy to contend and conquer ? 

Thus it was with me, and with renewed courage I prepared 
a second time to try the passage of the river. It would be a 
desperate attempt, but, all things considered, my only chance 
of salvation. There was, indeed, a remote chance of a boat 
passing near enough to see my signals ; or I might make my- 
self seen or heard by some one on the other side of tlie river. 
But I was absolutely deterred from either of these attempts, 
by the reflection that one or other might prove a two-edged 
sword in my hand, as I had an equal chance of being seen and 
heard by those on the Sardinian, as by those on the French 
side. Indeed, the one might be more eager to capture, than' 
the other to liberate me. Besides, was I even sure that the 
ground on which I stood was not Sardinian? This conside- 
ration was effectual in deciding me to remain no longer where 
I was. So, in spite of the danger involved in the endeavor to 
cross that impetuous river, inexperienced as I was, I made up 
my mind to try it, as the only chance of escape that was left 
to me. Having thus decided, I did my best, by a careful 
survey of the river, from where it entered the sea up to the 
junction of the two branches, to make myself master of its 
peculiarities, of its most dangerous points, and of the aid to be 
derived from adventitious circumstances. 

The bed of the Var was very wide, but nearly the half of it 
a dry course. What might strictly be called the river, lay in 
it like a long sinuous serpent, or rather serpents, and the 
water thu^ collected and drawn together had all the force and 
danger of torrents. They rushed with frightful velocity past 
the bank where I was standing, and I judged, by what I could 
see of the opposite bank, that it was the same there. I chose 
my spot as near as possible to where the river separated into 
two, this being the point most remote from the sea, being swept 
into which was my greatest danger. 

16 * 


370 


LORENZO BKNONI. 


To think of crossing in a direct line against such a terrific 
cun’ent, was entirely out of the question. My plan, therefore, 
was to take an oblique line, which, I expected, would enable 
me to gain one or other of the strips of dry land separating the 
streams. My idea was, that I should thus be able to recruit 
my strength, and recover breath to accomplish the rest of the 
passage. I was prepared to expect a struggle, and no trifling 
one. I therefore took some preliminary measures. I placed 
my purse and passport in my hat, which I then secured on my 
head as firmly as I could with my cravat, tied under my chin; 
and lest my trousers, which were very wide, should impede me, 
I turned them up above the knees, tying a handkerchief round 
each leg. 

Alive now to the danger of my precipitation the evening 
before, I stepped, with the greatest precaution, into the bound- 
ing river. I thought I had appreciated its strength and 
rapidity ; but when I actually experienced its power, my heart 
quailed within me. ^he water had scarcely reached to my 
knees, when I felt that I was losing my footing. I made 
almost superhuman efforts to maintain it, but in vain ; the 
river swelled and deepened around me. I then gathered 
together all my strength, and plunged resolutely forward, 
trying to swim. But I did not gain an inch of way in the 
direction I wdshed to take. Another instant, and I was 
whirling and tossing along, as if I had been a straw on the 
surface of the water. I still preserved my presence of mind ; 
and seeing that I was approaching a small patch of land, or 
rather a pyramidal mound of stones, which I had remarked 
from the bank, I made a desperate effort to grasp at it. It 
was within an arm’s length. I strained every nerve, every 
sinew and muscle, to reach it. Vain struggle, vain hope ! The 
water lashed me madly along, as it tore onward in ite headlong 
course. I saw the sea at no great distance ; and crying out, 
“ Oh, my mother !” I gave myself up for lost. 

As far as I can recollect, I was, after that one cry of anguish, 
in a state of half unconsciousness, and did not suffer. Sud- 
denly I felt a shock, that thrilled from the soles of my feet to 
the crown of my head. I opened my eyes. I was on the 


A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 


371 


very uttermost verge, I may say, of a furious whirlpool. I 
tried to rise, but the rush of water, even there, beat me down 
again. Animated by new hope, I strove, again and again, to 
withdraw myself from the dangerous vicinity. I was repeat- 
edly baffled ; hut as I felt, at each new failure, that there was 
solid ground beneath me, I struggled on until I had worked 
myself fairly into shallow water. When I was at last able to 
stand up, I saw that the hank I had been aiming at was within 
a few yards of me, and made my way thither with comparative 
ease. I flung myself out of the water, and breathing out, “ I 
thank thee, 0 my God sank down exhausted. 


372 


LORENZO BENONI. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

CONCLUSION OF THE VOYAGE AND OF THE TALE. 

The first thing I did when I recovered, was to feel for my 
hat. Luckily, the cravat with which I had tied it on had not 
given way, like those round my knees, and I still had, what 
was of most consequence to me, my purse and my passport. 
My shoes were gone, and a good half of my stockings along 
with them. My feet and hands were sadly cut and bleeding. 

1 was curious to know how, when all had seemed so hopeless, 

I had escaped. With a little reflection,! understood what had 
at first seemed little short of a miracle. I saw that the river 
made a sharp elbow at the point where I had felt the shock 
of the ground, and that it was even to the fury and impetuosity 
of the current, as it whirled round this obstacle, that I owed 
my life. In fact, I had been flung out of its course, as a stone 
from under the foot of a horse in full career. I perceived, 
also, that in five minutes more I must have been carried into 
the sea. 

But very soon the sight and sound of the rushing waters be- 
came insupportable to me (a feeling that lasted many long years 
after), and I fled from it with precipitation, as from an enemy"* 
whose murderous grasp I had still to fear. 

My clothes, as may be supposed, were in a pitiable state ; 
wet, torn, and muddy. There were some bushes and young 
trees near, on which I hung some of my garments to dry ; but 
alas ! down came a heavy shower, and as my object did not 
seem likely to be attained, I resumed my wet dress, and stood 
for several minutes under the branches of some trees, which 
had been interlaced so as to form a kind of shelter from rain or 


THE COAST GUARD. 373 

sunshine. This circumstance comforted me, as an indication 
that I was not far from the habitations of men. 

The shower being over, I walked on a short way, when I 
observed, at a little distance from me, a man with a gun in his 
hand, whom, from his attitude and dress, I concluded to he a 
sportsman. My first impulse would have been to go toward 
him, and ask his assistance ; but my experience of the day 
before had made me distrustful, and I stood hesitating. The 
man, however, had also seen me, and coming hastily toward 
me, he said — 

“ Who are you ? what are you doing here ? and pray, where 
are your companions V* 

“What companions?” said I, amazed at his roughness ; “I 
have no companions. As for what I am doing, you may see 
yourself. I am shaking with cold and hunger.” 

The man did not answer me at once, but stood with his 
gun full cocked, peering round and into the bushes and brush- 
wood, as if he expected to discover somebody or something 
hidden there. 

“ But how did you come here ?” asked he, returning to me 
after his useless search. 

“ I crossed the Var.” 

“ You could not do that alone.” 

“ I certainly did,” retorted I. 

“ And what was your motive for running such a risk ?” 

I now- guessed that, instead of a sportsman, I had fallen in 
with one of the men of the coast-guard. 

“ I have fled from the other side,” said I, “ on account of 
political motives.” 

To all appearance, the coast-guard was far from satisfied with 
my answers, as he surveyed me with suspicious eyes. To tell 
the truth, there must have been a Robinson Crusoe look about 
me, that might justify some mistrust* 

‘‘ Come along with me !” said he at last, in no courteous tone, 
beginning to walk away pretty briskly; and with my bruised 
and bleeding feet, of which he had either taken no notice, or 
for which he had no compassion, I followed him. 

After about a quarter of an hour’s walking over marshy 


374 


I,ORENZO BENONI. 


ground, but which was covered with low hushes and verdure, 
we entered a high road, and I saw before me the little French 
village of Pont St. Laurent, and also the bridge over the Var, 
which is the line of demarkation between France and Sardinia. 
It was with a strange mixture of pleasure and fear, that I con- 
sidered the short distance which separated me from the scaffold. 
After all, thought I, there is some good in conventionality. We 
went into a small wooden building, in which there were four or 
five customhouse officers, one of whom offered me some brandy 
out of a gourd, an offer I accepted with alacrity. 

My guide spoke to one of them, who seemed the superior, 
and who, after hearing the account of my capture, replied in a 
loud voice — 

“ This is no business of mine. Go to the quartermaster.” 

We then took our way to the barracks of the gens d’armes. 
As we went along, we met several persons, principally day- 
laborers and soldiers ; and I remarked with surprise and morti- 
fication, that I was an object of curiosity to all, of sympathy 
to none. The quartermaster was standing at the door of the 
barracks. So soon as he saw us approaching, he called out — 

“ An ^arly prize ! of course another smuggler.” 

“ The gentleman gives himself out to be a political refugee,” 
replied my conductor. 

“ Likely enough,” replied the quartermaster, shrugging his 
shoulders. “I see how it is — more food for powder and 
Algiers.” 

Deserters who fled to France were at that epoch sent to 
Africa, and incorporated in the foreign legion. I did not at 
that moment understand what was meant, and therefore took 
no notice of the words. 

The coast-guard man then went away, and the quarter- 
master became my escort. I at once classed him among that 
species of functionaries who think by arrogance and surliness 
to add importance to their office. We soon reached and entered 
a mean-looking house of one story. 

“ You must now be pleased to give an account of yourself 
to the mayor,” said my new guide, addressing me in a most 
consequential tone. > 


CROSS-QUESTIONED. 


375 


The worshipful mayor was occupied mending a bird-cage. 

“ What’s the matter now ?” said he, putting on an official 
frown as he saw me enter the room. 

“A deserter!” unhesitatingly replied the quartermaster. 

This time the words were plain enough. I could no longer 
doubt that they Avere applied to me. 

“ Mr. Mayor,” cried I warmly, “ I am no deserter; of which 
you may easily convince yourself, if you will take the trouble 
to look at my passport.” 

The quartermaster looked both surprised and disappointed 
at my having one. The mayor read and examined the pass- 
port with much attention, raising his eyes from time to time, 
to compare my appearance with the description it contained. 

“ This passport is not according to rule,” said he at last ; “ I 
do not see the signature of the French consul at Nice.” 

The objection was ridiculous. 

“ If I had had time and leisure to go to Nice, and to have 
my passport signed there,” I replied, “ it is not likely that I 
should have crossed the Var at the risk of my life.” 

“ Your passport says ‘ fresh-colored,’ ” interrupted the 
quartermaster, who had been looking at it over the mayor’s 
shoulder, “ and you are as yellow as a canary-bird. You 
need not try to deceive us ; as sure as I’m alive you arc a 
deserter.” 

The description of the friend who had procured the pass- 
port at Genoa answered very well for me, excepting as to com- 
plexion. I would not give a direct answer to the quarter- 
master, but turning to the mayor I said : — 

“ Have the goodness to consider that the danger I have 
just escaped is a tolerably good reason for my not being ‘fresh- 
colored’ at this moment, without taking into account my 
not having tasted food for twenty-four hours, and that I am 
dripping wet. It is no great wonder, I think, if I do look 
rather pale.” 

My arguments, and the tone in which I uttered them, seemed 
to make some impression on the mayor ; but he was evidently 
intimidated by the presence of the quartermaster. 

“ Write your name,” said he gruffly, giving me a pen and 


376 


LORENZO BENONI. 


piece of paper. I wrote my name, which he compared closely 
with the signature I had myself put to the passport on re- 
ceiving it. 

“ Now,” said the mayor, “ relate to me, and circumstantially, 
all the particulars which have caused you to leave your native 
country.” I said that one of my brothers and several of my 
intimate friends having been thrown into prison on account 
of their political opinions, which had given umbrage to the 
government, I had been advised to get out of the way for a 
short time. 

The mayor made note of all I said. 

“ It appears to me that, under these circumstances, I can 
not refuse my signature,” said he at last with a sigh and 
a deprecatory look at the quartermaster. “ If you are satis- 
fied to do so,” replied the latter, “ in spite of the difference of 
complexion, why, of course, I have nothing to say to it.” 

“ Let me see your hands,” said the mayor suddenly. I held 
them out; he examined them, inside and out; felt them, and 
then made the quartermaster do the same. They were search- 
ing, I suppose, for the corns which the use of the musket 
always causes. 

“ Are your pockets well lined, my man ?” asked the mayor, 
with a knowing look at the quartermaster. 

I stared at him without answering. 

“ Have you any money ?” persisted he. 

“ Yes.” 

Well, let me see.” 

I drew out my purse, which, notwithstanding the several 
attacks I had made on it, was still pretty full, and poured 
out the contents on the table before which the mayor was 
seated. 

The mayor raised his hands, as if to say, “That’s enough !” 
signed my passport at once ; and added, “ You may boast of 
your good luck as long as you live. A man who has escaped 
the gibbet in Piedmont, and who at this season could swim 
across the Var in safety, must have been born under a lucky 
star.” He then made a low bow, which I duly returned, and 
gladly left his presence. 


A FRIEND IN NEED. 


377 


The sudden politeness of the mayor, the friendly, almost 
playful tone of his last words, formed a pretty strong contrast 
to his gruff unceremonious manner during the first part of 
our interview ; and I confess I could not help laughing in my 
sleeve, and inwardly humming Figaro’s song, “ AW idea di 
quel MetaJlo!” 

During the scene which I have just sketched, and which 
passed in a room on the ground floor, Avith open AvindoAvs 
looking out on the street, a croAvd of persons had gathered 
round. In the midst of this throng Avas a customhouse officer, 
Avhose physiognomy and gestures shoAved him to be in a state 
of great excitement. The fcAv of his ejaculations AAdiich I could 
hear Avere highly expressive of his indignation at the treatment 
I had received, and of his sympathy for me. 

As soon as I went out this man came up to me, shook me 
heartily by the hand, and bade me cheer up. We Avere friends 
at once. Fenouil (that Avas his name) was a Avarm-hearted, 
good-natured felloAv, about fifty years of age ; one of those 
happily-organized creatures, with Avhom to be unfortunate and 
in need of help Avas the strongest recommendation. He prof- 
fered me his services Avith a look and accent Avhich made me 
feel that the best acknowledgment of his kindness Avas to ac- 
cept and make use of it. 

“ First of all,” said I, “ I want a pair of shoes.” 

“We Avill soon get them,” ansAvered Fenouil. 

I expected of course that he Avould take me to a shop; but 
instead of that it Avas to his OAvn poor little dAvelling that Ave 
Avent ; and do or say what I Avould I Avas compelled to accept 
a pair of his OAvn shoes, and to put them on immediately. 
They Avere a pair of reddish thick-soled shoes, which certainly 
did not suit me very well, and yet I liked them better than 
the costliest and most irreproachable pair I have ever Avorn 
since. I should have been glad to buy a pair of stockings, 
and some other clothes, but dared not speak of such a thing, 
lest my new friend should insist on dressing me in one of his 
customhouse greatcoats. 

Being thus provided with Avhat was most indispensable, 
Fenouil took me to the best public-house in the village, and 


378 


LOKKNZO BENONI. 


while the “ Omelette au lard'' was preparing, I wrote a few 
most guarded lines to Alfred — not to his address, however 
— to make known that I had at last accomplished my escape 
to France. It was lucky that Fenouil and myself were pro- 
vided with excellent appetites, otherwise we could not have 
relished as we did the very frugal breakfast we partook of 
together. 

As I found that the diligence or stage-coach from Nice to 
Antibes would not pass for another hour, I thought it would 
he as well to go and dry myself and my still damp garments 
in the sun on the high road, as to remain chilled in the miser- 
able room of a miserable tavern. As soon as I reached the 
road a group of persons assembled round me full of curiosity 
to hear my adventures, and to get at the details of my passage 
of the Var. I found, however, that almost all my listeners 
were incredulous as to my having achieved that feat alone 
and unassisted. Some, indeed, did not hesitate openly to 
express that opinion. How could they bring themselves to 
believe that I who knew nothing about the river, should not 
only have ventured but accomplished that which the boldest 
among tbe smugglers would shrink from attempting at this 
season of the year ! 

Fenouil, surveying these unbelievers with undisguised con- 
tempt, asked them, if they took the gentleman for a milk-sop : 
and as I listened to their discussion, I felt a retrospective panic 
thrill through me at my narrow escape. 

While we were thus engaged, who should come up smiling 
and hat in hand, but my persecutor the quartermaster ; he 
said he had come to congratulate me on my safety, and to beg 
me to forgive him for the disagreeable part he had been con- 
strained by his sense of duty to act ; winding up his oration 
with a request that I would give him gold in exchange for two 
hundred francs in silver. I complied without hesitation ; but 
I became really alarmed lest I should be deprived of all my 
gold, when there came similar applications from two others of 
the government officers. 

Fenouil gave me an explanation of this somewhat strange 
eagerness after gold on the part of the government employes 


FANTASIO. 


379 


of Pont Saint Laurent, which I have utterly forgotten. 
Luckily the arrival of the diligence cut short this new species 
of traffic. 

Fenouil wrote in pencil, on a piece of paper, “ Fenouil 
Pierre, prepose des Douanes de la Brigade de St. Laurent, 
Var.” “ If a poor customhouse officer can ever he of any use to 
you,” he began, presenting me with the bit of paper — hut he 
could not add another word. I pressed his hand in mine, too 
much touched by his genuine kindness of heart to he able 
to speak. “ Farewell, farewell !” and the diligence rolled 
away. 

God bless thee, poor customhouse officer ; for thy heart 
would have done honor to a marshal of France. Thy auto- 
graph is more precious to me than were that of the greatest of 
European celebrities, and I shall keep it religiously to the last 
day of my life. 

At Antibes I was able to get myself some stockings and a 
blouse, thanks to the good landlady of the Hotel de la Poste, 
who acted the part of a mother to me. What she thought or 
suspected she kept to herself ; and she bathed my torn and 
bleeding feet, like a true woman, full of ready sympathy and 
tenderness for suffering, let it come in what shape it would ! 

My dress, however, must have had something grotesque and 
droll in its arrangements ; for the next day, when I got down 
from the coach at Marseilles, my appearance excited a good 
deal of mirth among the bystanders, one of whom pointing to 
me, said, “ What a smart fellow ! I wager anything he is 
come to be married. — Parions qu’il va se marier.” 

The reception I met with at the Hotel du Midi, where I went 
for rooms, confirmed me in this belief, and made me sensible 
of the necessity of providing myself immediately with a less 
remarkable costume. So I sent forthwith for a hatter and a 
bootmaker, and also to a warehouse for ready-made clothes. 
An hour later I was once more dressed as a gentlem^an. As 
it happened, the suit that fitted me best was a black one: I 
looked as if I were in mourning. 

I made haste to Fantasio, who received me as a friend would 
a dear, dear friend he had despaired of ever seeing again on 


380 


LORENZO BENONI. 


this side of the grave. Previous to leaving Genoa I had con- 
trived to inform him of my possible arrival at Marseilles with- 
in a few days ; but as more than a week had elapsed without 
his seeing me, or receiving any tidings, he had concluded that 
my attempt at flight had been foiled ; and that I had fallen 
into the hands of the police. Great therefore was his joy to 
behold me safe and well ; and great was mine to find myself 
once more by the side of an affectionate friend. 

But my joy was soon damped at the sight of the dreadful 
change that had come over Fantasio’s appearance. He looked 
so pale, so careworn, so haggard — the shadow of himself. 

“ What is the matter with you said I ; “ you look very 
ill.” 

“ Oh ! nothing at all,” stammered out Fantasio ; “ I have 
been very uneasy about you, and ” He stopped. I hes- 

itated also to speak. 

At last I said, “ Any bad news from home ?” Fatitasio at- 
tempted to reply, but could not, and turned away. 

“ For Heaven’s sake,” I cried, “ do not try to deceive me ; 
— tell me what has happened. What — of — Caesar ?” 

Fantasio hid his face and sobbed aloud. 

I understood it all. Merciful God ! Caesar was no more ! 


NOTE BY THE EDITOR. 

Lorenzo’s presentiment as to his brother’s fate had proved 
but too true. Nor Avas Caesar the only one among the reader’s 
acquaintances — the single victim. Poor Sforza had been 
shot ; the two associates of Vittorio, Miglio Avas one of them, 
Avere also shot. Vadoni was condemned to imprisonment 
for life. Lazzarino to ten years’ solitary confinement in a 
fortress. 

The mystery that enveloped Vittorio’s fate Avas not cleared 
till some months afterward, AA'hen it was ascertained that he 
was at Bologna, a prisoner. To explain: — On the morning 


THE END. 


381 


of the day previous to the capture of the chief conspirators, 
Vittorio was summoned before his colonel, seized on while off 
his guard, thrown into a post-chaise, and conveyed under es- 
cort to the frontier of the Roman states, of which he was a 
native. By this summary, and apparently rigorous proceeding, 
had the gallant officer contrived, without committing himself 
too far, to save at least the life of his young subordinate, for 
whom he was known to entertain a special regard. 

Count Alberto and Alfred were left unmolested. Adriano 
Stella, who was absent from home at the time when the arrests 
began, took good care to keep out of the way. 

Many a fine fellow, chiefly among the military, whose name 
has not appeared in the foregoing pages — Vochieri was one 
— was shot at Alexandria and Chambery ; some were confined 
for life, or for periods varying from ten to twenty years ; a still 
greater number succeeded in effecting their escape abroad. 


THE END. 


:r^ 


'W 






r-'" 












yA 


W 


« I 


V' 






:v? 


4 -<. 






< 




» wf'l 


Ki 


';t‘ 7 ; 


'ff. 




A. '»♦ 


"t# 




PT 


'W. 




; * 






V « 




i i 


w 


I 




U t> 


»» 


> *., 








« 


? ■ 




fi 


N*X/ 




t » 


A 


•v *: 


V 


>tt 


«• • 




V‘ '-T^i 


H- 


¥.>:-l>^> n<l 


« V 






I 






iCi.V 


tf 




T-IJ 


Vr 






i*L '■ . » 








^ aT 






* k r 


■h 


'h. 




:--»i 




L 




TSSSSSt^'i*v^’> ' \' o s ' * '-i. . */^j,'i •- % *» ^ 

!■lu^^^ ,*•# ^» • i-Ai 






:m 


t M. 


' ^ 'k' ■ "}.'^U‘. y^/-: 


WiJ, 


:. i 


^ 'i 




>% t. 


Lw 
‘ > M 


h^\ /»v .. * 


X . V^ . r“. 

• *^ r# . k 
*•-" > >. ^ ’ 9 

* • »\A ( 


g? : ■ . # ’ '■ ■‘''j>^-.>‘f' 4''. 


^.1. 


I .- 


'\> 




i^i ■ C; 


*{ 


, V 


'■■Vj 


A' 


f 


•i 


>1< 


• } 


\k 


DT 




'j^ 


w 






_ JP 






'.V 






<-r«f«' 




-a’ 




♦ i* 










' • 






‘f,I 7 




./.I 


^’3 




I ♦» 






► VC!fv 






> ►: 






'Vj 


- 4?. 


•->3. 


'\ 'tWi -. 


^ V 




w * -. > 


>.< M 


/_ V 






ll^vV 


Of 


c^l 




t 




t •. 


A. 


iStty 


f-i 








[«?*■ 


ii/'.-i' 


//fsiP'Twwi w' 

ftt' ‘>^L - ' ';■'* 


&-N.« 




♦ » 


Jf^ 




W-. ^■■’ 43 ’ 


ki\V 


-W 









■ HAT - ' 






^ J:_»__ a. fe - 






■M Jj?^; ;^i • 

dUU'yikJi 1 r 










- 


I»IK3 

‘4^iJ i P -' . 

iilili’v 


> I " * 


r* »., 



i .t. 


L^lilihafL-vc 




* 





. V -Jf vJ 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


OOOEE'^SOTaE 




,f ■/ ,f ./ .V ,f S ^ 1 ,> f Jr . 



